when you cease being a word you are just a singular
experience of a dancing shadow not being welcome
anywhere limping along a cyclone fence spitting
out the rest of your breath through the holes into the absence
of grass while dictionaries revolutionaries confectionery
haberdashery fall on you from the sky bounce off your head
or wrap around it ambush you behind the doors
you are not able to open whisper obscenities into your ears
and the universe is roaring in every public restroom
if you care to pay attention and in every muzak song
that roar becomes your prodigal self

{from the comments on behind}