. . . some sorry-ass grave digger grown bone-tired of the trade.
- Maggie Nelson, Bluets
A sense of brutal honesty . . . perhaps not often . . .
or . . . not often enough . . .
Why bother with the examined life on the examination table? . . .
With accretion . . . nothing lost . . . including loss . . .
The images fuzzy . . .
Is retrospection by nature . . . fuzzy? . . .
by nature . . . faulty? . . .
As when you look back and get drenched in blue . . .
A sweet sensation? . . .
And you insisting you always drove the bus . . .
Doubtful . . . she replied . . . mid-costume change . . .
as if . . . in the middle of lovemaking . . .
someone walks in . . .
I know my lines so please stop with the prompts . . .
Rallying around . . . and what not . . .
The loneliness of long distance silence . . .
Not a chance, my love, you have parlayed that conceit . . .
Trawling for eyes . . . mouths . . .
Awaiting the shuttle back to Neveragainland! . . .
Floated by some . . . There must be a reason for this . . .
Sucker-punched . . . and then . . .
conceding that it may help some . . .
those holed up in themselves . . . living life . . . off camera . . .
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| Aron Demetz |