He has this plan this projection
It fans out before him like dominoes
If he can just align the right conversation
Angle in that phrase at the acute point
At which he will shine in the reflected
Light of that one specific person’s eye
Then he will prove to himself like truth
Tables that a equals b equals c

Yet narratives never unfold like origami
Back into a perfectly square explanation
Lives are lived in spastic exaltations
Random ricochets like billiard balls
Or ions through the thermosphere
Dancing the borealis across the sky

(July 2011)