On the existence of audience as proxy for self is important.
I think yours is too. In other words, we are all important
As a unit. The thing is, I do want your prayers, I do want
A little donkey and some myrrh mixed into my martini.
You are my favorite little prayer—have I told you? An introvert’s
Hoarding affection for panic only leads to nights in the hole.
There are so many things I want to show you. My collections,
My collections of collections, my collections of desires,
My catalogues of chrysalises, grape popsicles stuck to
Tongues I’ve had in mine own mouth only once. Or twice?
Or imagined. What’s the etiquette? Don’t go to third unless
You’re willing to lick everyone? Everyone watches for the myth
Arc and everyone experiences the small revelations as pivotal
To character identification in the grand scheme. Everyone
Trusts. Or not, in which case we’re watching with a squint
And that’s fine too. There’s so little left to reveal. But today
There’s agency or agencies, unravel. Individual actors within
The audience. Spread your love, part your digits. Speak
Your nothing into a well of clambering budgies all pecking
At the cereal box in the corner. Some day, it’ll talk back.
