#33

You were walking without care toward the amphitheater. There was nothing to distract you. You had in your hands a notebook of transcriptions, all the movement of your former nay-saying. Birds functioned like singing-machines as you passed. In anticipation? No one could say. The streets were no longer approximate stairwells. And the sun had consumed its chariot.

Travis sent a kiss for a bruise, Micah a one-way orgasm. There were parties throughout the city, every full stop on vacation. Bryan was there, and others. Les, who fed your cat with rectitude. That couple from the park, ready to fuck you as one fucks a child.

People's hearts grew humid over chatlines. They had no trauma, like an anchor to the real. Scott said, "Love is empathy." Kerry: "It does not fail." Your head swelled in response. You were you then; and I? I cannot say. For I lay sleeping on a cot in the hospital, an envelope of x-rays clutched in my hands. Like a bill, or a book, or a script of lines I once recited flawlessly.