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