Other Voices
or quip at the tragedy of unknowns
without my face
ripping value to shreds
and laying disclosed cards
on a table
saying
"I too know this moment"
It's why a joke between friends
is not my hand for a sleeve
because the what's up
of the whole unexpected bomb
left ticking
could have been me
and for a moment
and moments
I am the rip
the smack
the fall
I become the character
and the narrator
ran down an alley way
at an angle of quick
vanishings
leaving me
as if they were leaving me
losing a breath to decomposition
and to the empty
aridity of poetry
but here is a stone
make a hatcher
build a home with
roof thatched
find a path
and the several consolations
but somewhere
a joke was being told
by a narrator confused
for a character.
