from Walking Out
At which point they stopped me because it must have seemed like this—a still man still in the aftermath of pamphlets. Who added onto the word? Spirit and bride, the she that he has, had him. I am capable of making the parade pitch its delicacy into the corner of 10th and 7th, knowing out a lost leaf with my stance then clasp: discussion is littered, when did you hold ours in? Unguarded canyon, my compassionate debris leaves you and leans, spilling at the foot of her lean; this leaning, my being stopped, pockets full of the increasing need to flee there, be here, whisking all along the backwards-facing crowd of sleep and the voices of mine that were hustled away, light and faceless.