History hits you—headlong into swan dive
That mushy cataclysm called morning
Opens your eyes. Back to your beloved mystery
But fake phone calls, gunshots, screams, disguises,
people pretending to be dead, and other devices
take advantage of a reader’s assumptions.
But these waves will not forget this day, as our voices
Accept the fact that our own personal mysteries
Aren’t quite as exciting, nor will they ever be.
Yet an oblivious city rises up each time that
Familiar melody plays. The calligraphy of a car slices
Through evening’s infinite violet. There is no
Photogenic heaven, and there will be no bloodless coup.
Photo By: Jamie Pichora
