During performances, I was
devoted to following the plans of others:
the room, the walls,

the people listening,
the drowning from time to time, whatever.

Watching invariably begins
with a glimpse of awareness,
followed by not knowing

what will come after.
I sat in a straight-back chair,
lead beneath my feet.
There was a wide arch to the right.

Do you ever think? Yes. No. I don’t not
for an instant. I open my eyes,
it’s still the present.

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Was this done well?

Who’s to say?
Make me up like a manikin
with a cosmetic palette. Tired now?

I know I am. Add a bed,
and a sea overtaking a city.

Now draw something
that looks like a blown vent of blood
and a pinching sense of regret
over some wrong done.