During performances, I was devoted
to miming the plans of others: the room,
the walls, the people listening,
the drowning from time to time, whatever.
Watching invariably begins with a glimpse
of awareness, followed by not knowing
what will come after.
I sat in a straight-back chair, lead beneath
my feet. There was a wide arch to the right.
Do you ever think? Yes. No. I don’t not
for an instant. I open my eyes,
it’s still the present.
Enter a Messenger
Was this done well?
Who’s to say?
Make me up like a manikin
with a cosmetic palette. Tired now?
I know I am. Add a bed, and a sea overtaking
a city. Now draw something
that looks like a blown vent of blood
and a pinching sense of regret
over some wrong done.