Listen to the world’s best poetry read out loud.

A prayer then
for the men who sit,
pale as geishas,
by the glow of obsolete
computers.

Whose nights are neverending
searches:
the busy crickets
of their fingers
stoking engines

with maiden names
and zip codes
of ex-lovers.
God of false trails
and disappearing acts,

deliver us
from the namesake:
Homecoming Queen,
Quaker settler,
tenured academic,

these indices of others.
It’s getting light.
See how the dawn
seems to bleed
from Venus.