Portrait, Guilt Obscured by Fog
Picture a man in a field.
I am no closer to this than you, reader.
He holds rage close as a wire.
He sharpens a stick on the side of the house.
He is a child. You are a child. You/ I. Picture his parents.
Disremember him finding his mother's corpse.
Memory I want to talk to you.
Years ago I went to a motel to die.
Memory what must be nobody's fault is nobody's fault,
1996 © 2012