am bathed in electric light.
Audiences bored at the trying drama,
but this is my life: fast forward.
I wander at night.
Do not know where I go.
Thoroughfares transversed.
Hint of canopies under shade with midway shine;
August boughs leaning down to run
twiggy fingers through my locks.
These eyes are now unwilling or unable to rest
mostly consist of pupils, seen not, but seen enough
not reflections caught ---- glimpsed, revered. Held.
Oh, God, can you hear me?
Can I even hear myself?
Where
now will this go?
