Somewhere between abdicating from life without officially resigning some
people talk in remixed silences, a shade too low to be picked up by humans
though dogs and moths-turned-secret-spies can hear them on their frequency,
Oh such people are everywhere, inside – outside – and me,
We hide behind barrels of lattes, making petty talk in vowels and consonants
yet to be invented, talking about the bowels and the consulates of countries
yet to be pretended,
But we mean well, and intentions are good – so good that we became the of-
ficial supplier for the road to hell after winning the tender,
Oh we are everywhere and “People like that are the only people here” –
thank you Lorrie Moore for coming up with that one,
And we are like that, we try our best you know, and our still not uttered
pearls of wisdom adorn the heavenly pearly gates, just to counter-balance our
exports to hell; it rains on us, reining us in, and we take comfort that almost
everyone we know is like that.