Never mind the way
the wind will move, forget
how the light keeps
changing the frame, you’re not
a piece they need. The extra
parts aren’t a problem,
your little wishes are not the world
we live through like a movie,
hiding from monsters, hunting
loot and clout, the guy the girl
the roundabout, somebody forever
sentenced to just be themselves—
the long awaited alone at last
outlasting the conceit or the plot.
So what if you missed your mark?
You were never great with punctuation.
These stops and starts, all shouts and
stabs and moving parts
best left to sharper minds and
better machinations. You know
now the words won’t stop
no matter where you put them or
which blots and scribbles
you throw under their wheels while
the real insists, awaiting the inevitable
call back to the act one gun.