27

XXVII by Emily Dickinson

I'm nobody! Who are you?
Are you nobody, too?
Then there's a pair of us- don't tell!
They'd banish us, you know.

How dreary to be somebody!
How public, like a frog.
To tell your name the livelong day
To an admiring bog!

Reminders, Saturday Night Cincinnati

taking it so seriously

swaying drunkenly

arms across shoulders

a pantomime of fun

like an early nineties

teen angst drama

everyone waiting

for Jordan Catalano

singing the words of a song

written by a junk man

everyone waiting

for this guy to die

so they can touch a bit

of the local papers

that will soon be tossed away

stacking up shards of identity

song lyrics

clothing scraps

carefully scripted photographs

building up a toppling tower

of digital nothing

some of us still get up

and go to work in the morning

scrape thick frost

off the windshield

and trudge along

while they still sneak

into mama's purse

steal a twenty

old enough to know better

the last love interest

was an empty hole

filled with pills

pizza

pop

smoke

sugar

and sometimes booze

covered with a thick layer of jokes

like jungle leaves over a trap

I was an empty hole

sucking in whatever was around

but then realized

there is no end to this sucking

and stopped cold

now I try to fill

the dark space with light

and warmth

and sound

so far it's working

even in the dead of winter