Tuesday, September 28, 2021

OFFSCREEN

After standing alone 
outside of it all 
since before immemorial, 

time 
has grown stubborn, 
furious, cold. 

But once in a while, 
time is kind—when it's late, 

and it's drowsy 
and slow, it says 

things like
"Tag. You're it." And 

"Anyone 
could have written this." 
And

"direction is effective 
but unnecessary."

*

What have I got to lose? 

Among the bumps 
and depressions 

of a black and blue 
keyboard, the only things moving 

were some shadows 
and their fingers.


*

In the terrible dreams 
that I've been having 
lately, 

words rise unbidden 
like bodies 
from the harbor 

and speak themselves.
It's like—everything that made me 
not good enough

comes screaming at me 
from everywhere offscreen
at once.

Through the racket, 
the question I still want 
to ask you more than anything

isn't 
whether or not 
you love me, 

but whether or not you 
believe 
that you do.