Who Wrote This, Again?


he decides
not to decide
how to end
a sentence
till she decides
what she wants

an entire torso
disappears into
the ambivalence

being a torso
it has no legs
or feet
to walk away with
no brain to use
for simple navigation

without a wrist
it can’t wear
a GPS watch

look closely
at that photo taken
on a Thursday
long ago
when it still had
everything to lose

quick before it evaporates
a Polaroid
magically undevelops

all the secret posing
and floating off
now gone


he changes careers again
goes into women’s coats

makes her insides crawl
to hear a stranger in the cafe
click his pen incessantly
while surfing the ‘net

buds in his ears to protect him
from the fingernail
on chalkboard
phenomenon he causes

when it stops
relief floods
into the flume
of an open mind

teetering on the edge
of nonsense
she wonders why she has to
put her hands in the air

to become someone
else’s sweet surrender

2 thoughts on “Who Wrote This, Again?

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