In the remake of the film, Melanie Griffith’s wig is made of a disassembled black Toyota. She doesn’t drive anywhere. Instead she makes love to a businessman in an abandoned diner bathroom, hoping that if they both grunt loud enough, the East Village of the 80s will return. For a moment it does—in front of the knish store on Houston, tangerine-scented meringue tickles the necks of amateur pickpockets. Ghosts with asymmetrical haircuts play three card monte on the backs of runaway farm boys. When the current year snaps back, the bathroom mirror is splattered with blood. Curls from long lost Nuyorican beauty salons clump together to create hair beasts, the future version of anti-capitalist pets. Neon data scrolls across a sunglasses’ lens.
Joanna Fuhrman’s sixth book, To a New Era, was published by Hanging Loose in last year. She is an Assistant Teaching Professor at Rutgers University. This poem is from a manuscript of prose poems about the internet called Data Mind.