I'm the mute kid in a choir-
present,
but with nothing discernible to add
even words desert me
and interest
is only ever accrued on funds deposited
excitement is a commodity uncommon
as evidenced
by the creak of a rocking chair,
the clunk of ice in an unaccompanied vessel
and the saline moisture spewing forth
from decomposing leftovers;
at least now I understand
for experience has enlightened
and execution is something
I can not decide on receiving,
or indeed delivering-
but I know this
recognition is redundant
in relation to my own nomenclature,
invisible, like blind hope
that I can no longer carry
and still
I can not ascertain why...











16 old applause
