A:
I don’t understand what you’re trying to prove.
Z:
That I have nothing to prove.
A:
This path is shadow.
Z:
This I know.
A:
Do not follow the other[s]. Let y come and show the way out.
Z:
I have a new trust in right angles, perpendicular, vertical
angels. Thank the gods you are vertical, my Angel, A.
A:
Who will lead this dance of broken particulars?
Unskilled in following leads, reading directions,
I bore easily. The mind wanders with the lost violin
off the page. The musical score set afire.
Z:
Absence distracts. Not skilled at waiting for what
really? Bring on the gasoline at this juncture
of jumpy birds. We all desire to be adored.