Yet again, I look
at the clock
just to be sure
that time has passed.
From somewhere
or other, I seem
to hear strings
of words being uttered,
originating elsewhere
before passing
through purgatory
and terminating here.
So I close my eyes once more
against the din
of recognition
and imagine
I'm a sleepwalker holding out his fists,
trudging alone
through the cramped decor
of his own thoughts—
Ignorant of all
he is saying
or doing,
even after it has happened.
*
Tag—you're It.
And what It is
is a mistake—
but who ever heard of
a mistake
that has a system;
whose papers were filed
in the proper order,
which is bonded,
insured,
incorporated,
etc;
a mistake which is
a nonzero vector,
with an origin
all its own
and an arrow
of direction?
