A few out of focus sets of events,
narrative leaps absent a connective
strand upon which to play any meaning.
I, we, talk around it as if children
dancing in a circle before falling
away to incomplete understandings:
this singularity I have put on- –
a gravitational well, so to speak,
where all I have about me is compacted.
From this space a sacred laughter echoes
all the onerous distinctions of my cowardice,
such serious ground to spill out my blood:
the irrational irrational mote,
the fiction of the fictionalized me.
subtext 