Let me believe the moon does not rise but sits motionless
Then leave me to the dust that falls without intention while a mop
Because when I woke to the sound of my own voice, what I said
ELEGY FOR PRETENDING
That in the end, when silence showed you the moon and the way
the wrong direction. It was then that you overheard two words:
or why this robin, high on glue from the dump, can still send
Late one night at 8th Street while waiting on a subway, I noticed a woman seated on the floor beside an incoherent painting scrawled in yellow, black, orange. A small crowd had gathered and when I approached, she held up a paintbrush and asked if I wanted to contribute.
Were you ever in the middle of trying to save your own life—a decision or idea that would change everything—when suddenly there appeared all around you so many voices that "just came by to say," each one an expert on what is essential or expendable?
Yes, I answered, and refused the brush.