(Dedicated to Childhood Role Models now Incarcerated)
we see it written all over his
facesawdust, whimpers, wet tracks of tears. his bent elbows are
handles; he is lifted at will.
one who was more than a god to us. we chased marbles down escalators
at the merest scatter of his hands. the artery which ran from his tear
duct to the corneait kinked like a polygraph needle. how close we had
come to grasping that line, feeling its pulse.
now he is
trapped, but everywhere, and a voice says on the radio that he is
faster than ever, spanning from end to end in seconds.
focuses. millions cannot tell before from after, but the line has gone