Your earlier self inhabits the body . . .
A trolley on a back street searches for passengers
who were meant to be elsewhere . . .
You'd better not hear me say that! . . .
the weird aftertaste when you at least tried . . .
then the green of a standin
asleep in the other room . . .
Yes, perhaps the endgame
which if nothing else will stoke the confusion . . .
Someone will be kicked to the curb
before the overflow is reckoned with
and rendered inconsequential . . .
You began the conversation on a positive note . . .
a concert A? . . .
yes, that's it, you said, recognizing
the ramifications of a lost lyric
in the early morning, no, no, not that,
it wasn't that, I'm sure . . .
It's not about making the cut
the call and response . . . that kind of thing
reconfigured from audio files
dropped off at a transfer station . . .
It's about a musical suite in a stand of pines . . .
Can you imagine the confusion
of a left turn . . . then another . . . and another? . . .
Nervous motion, head jerks, tics, shouts . . .
The sinister recording of happenstance
followed by a rewind, a retelling . . .
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| Eva Torkarchuk |