The curious come close. They trouble themselves to cry out
their many grievances. I don’t know what the world is about
by now. All I trust is the confusion, the resentment, plaint
upon complaint. I go to the streets. They are empty, silent,
fearful. Do you know why you are not here? I stop. I’m not
even there. I can’t say why. In the hush I ask, Where is that?
7 June 2013
copyright 2013 by Floyce Alexander
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