Drip

An offer at Astor. Discounted
coffees for those who work with books.
City of Saints; Off of
the book I work as well
in a place
toward that city; This is
the little instance that I lack.

Relief. Listening through; An eyeball of
another; Listened to.
Background bells. Of din above,
conversation.
Inside conversation; Inside out
of it. The director? Guide. “Poet, I beseech
thee…”;
Is he dead? Yes? I see it now,
too—the open, empty mouth.

“Who are you? What do you do?
How many ya’ take home?
When are you
to be giving it all back?”
—Auto-inquisition, eternal; Stationing.

Memorial day to remember; How
long, how long, I had been forgotten!
Year of fated
dating. Only
what the non-repeating number will tell.

(L.W.) “Whereof one cannot speak, thereof
one must be silent”—Tell of me,
this confessional drip
is already on,
already inside, your newest
and if, and only if, abandoned,
sonic deathwish.