One Enormous Question

Wednesday, January 10, 2018

What if it turns out some of the guys I’m friends with
aren’t really “guys,” but placeholders of some ilk?
Gel-filled horse hide, sewn shut, striated
with leisure marks, handful of realistic teeth, “eyes,” maybe
some old bones submerged in the goo?
I shudder to think. Truthfully, a few of them don’t speak—
or tend to mumble. Some have such soft mouths
I want to plotz. I just want to lose it. The way moonlight
drips off New Orleans tree branches late on
a post-Victorian weeknight. You’ve seen
         it? That mellow glow?

• • •
 

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