The Citizen        (SEMI-FILLER)

And the citizen waits until weekend...

Nerves and their message send
A slow illusion of what is there
And break the mystery down...

The citizen escapes mystery on a friday night...

And the citizen waits until death
For something to happen,
And is thus separated by his words...

He will not recall that his body comes and goes...
His body is a storm, a flood, a forest fire...
And because they do, he does...

His words make him a force of violence,
Never in ease or silence,
Never hearing the soft wing-beat
Of All that ever happens...


“Words? I’ll let poets say my words...”
He shrugs, attending to the barbecue...