Strange to sit in a room
\nbrimming with writers
\narranged by two rows
\nof chairs in an arc \u2014
\nso foreign to the act:
\nwhere we all sit alone
\nwith pen and paper
\nin a crowded waiting room
\nor a restaurant or bus
\nor cell; or with keyboard
\nand monitor in a corner \u2014
\nwe are always alone.<\/p>\n
But here writers range
\nfocused on the stark podium
\nfrom which will issue
\nproclamations:
\nthese are my words
\nI stake my being on
\nthese words;
\nI live or die here.<\/p>\n
I pour my brain
\ninto the pool of light:
\nthere in the plate with
\nmy head and heart;
\nI wait for the chattering
\nin my knees to stop
\nI strip the final fabric
\nout of my mask
\nand bare raw bone.
\nHail, Caesar!
\nWe who are about to read
\nSalute You!
\nI begin to move my lips:
\neach utterance is
\nwrong, fails to sound
\nremotely familiar \u2014
\nwho wrote this crap?<\/p>\n
It is over
\nthe emperor’s thumb hides
\nin the folds of his sleeve.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Strange to sit in a room brimming with writers arranged by two rows of chairs in an arc \u2014 so foreign to the act: where we all sit alone with pen and paper in a crowded waiting room or a … Continue reading