Friday, November 5, 2021


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, 

a mistake which is 
a nonzero vector,

with an origin 
all its own

and an arrow 
of direction?