I'm going read two more poems.
This one is--
I am thinking of another title for it.
It's now entitled "Return."
The only other title I've thought of
is "A Child Gives Birth to Parents."
It simply is how I'm relating to my parents at the moment.
They are like poems lost behind mirrors, curling yellow,
their images fading.
A dream waking brings no escape.
I am the germ sperm has grown into.
I was not consulted on the eve of my creation.
They had plans of their own.
I see their bone faces at the end of the road,
smiling encouragement as the ground opens.
We keep our distance in a box with unused maps.
Aliens in a lost land pretending to laugh,
who depend on wires to convey impulses.
I never return.
Their voices squeezed across country,
reduced to wordless vibrations.
Searching for their once child.
Time to sleep.