You practice your lines in a two-way mirror
plagiarizing last night's notes
ghosts escaping into the semantic other
balancing tongues
at least believing such
that this is the way you have learned
to manage the world . . .
to manage you in the world . . .
Something will come undone . . .
You will then fondle happy moments
lipsyncing the middle of a chapter
from your childhood's diorama
carried along by the current . . .
your grocery list sheepishly revealing the answer
to a question you have yet to ask . . .
the neighborhood's scammed
as odysseyites fill their foreigns with ancient myths . . .
Kate Barry |