after Charles Simic
But then there's the other place
the place of soliloquies
forgotten lines
broken links
lost articles of clothing
threadbare stuffed animals,
the place of amputations
mangled tricycles
crutches
spent shell casings.
To visit this place
is to search the corridors
of REM sleep,
looking for a clue
among the rubble
looking for a friend
who vanished.
The menus here are blank
the newspapers' words missing
but with a trace of a message
that tricks us
into thinking
it can be pieced together
and understood.
