I. at issue is the glass between us. opaque language, unhoneyed eyes, ears cottoned in steam. now to stop the words, to prevent a crash, to make us admit we were ever simpler: my fingers on the knot of a tie your breath untying the mirror.

No Poem Is the Only Poem. No Story Is the Only Story. No Kings.
I. at issue is the glass between us. opaque language, unhoneyed eyes, ears cottoned in steam. now to stop the words, to prevent a crash, to make us admit we were ever simpler: my fingers on the knot of a tie your breath untying the mirror.