--goddamn the screen
that I should be so pitted
that I should be strung out
all along the sight-lines
that I should be shot
through with the horizon
--sometimes you can trust
only the ghost
in your hands
they rose of themselves
the silent animal in them
curled it's claws
and tore out
the wires
and I had thought--this would be
salvation, when
the last of vision
faded, and ran down my cheeks
I did not think--
that those swinging, rolling fools
the ghost curls now
at the base of my skull
I did not think that those
easily distracted--so foolish
to chase the colors
--every damn sparkle
I did not think that they had
for all their chattering
had preserved me
from the purposeful
silence
of this strange, and alien
animal, breathing with me
in the dark.
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