Alas, we’ll never know how it turns out,
if that boy chewing his sock will ever
be diagnosed and welcomed back or the monster
understood at last and killed. We had to turn
the TV off and try to get some sleep, slippery
goddess who never comes when called and then
won’t go away. Hard to know what to sacrifice,
what obeisance make. Torch some feverfew?
Dance until the brain floats to the deep end
of the stew or sit at glacial remove
scoring a tablet with po-mo insect song?
Fellow initiates, brother bozo, sister scar,
let us share the paint strips of our hearts,
Leadbelly blues, Inverness grays, scab red.
Not that I expect to understand you better
than you do me or less, your addled broken
bike bell, my hostage knock. It’s just
that we’re together not much longer
and what a relief. Look who’s here with us,
Myrtle back from confessional surgery,
Captain Mike with his topical bilge,
the commando, the shampoo salesman,
the reluctant soprano who refuses to sing
unless we plead, cajole, insist, promise
to make fools of ourselves too, forget
ourselves as others are obliged to do
so the world may be restored a portion
of its emptiness and peace.