my protest is muted with intricate
grief.

loss is thatched like a window - compartmentalized -
compact- 3rd -bird's eye view of a lifeless live stream.

I am onlooking on and looking out, on and on,
I am rapt and riveted by the scenery
brought to me - the audience, once seated, ushered in and
orderly, becomes the show.

and me again, utterly speechless

and wondering, amidst humanity's applause for its SELF,
how being well adjusted in a sick and dying world, signifies
success or mental health.

I postpone sleep, and then too,
waking - the pier-less space between planes,
the too plain too brite day,
overt and accusing with curtained
shadows, waving thin and roomy and ever at vigil
-nocturn devotion even through noon.
their mood loiters, nervously slowed to deliberate
distortion; scavenged shimmers of the riptide
currents filled with work weak busysounds
and its caved in undertow …

they don't know
I am here.