I. What it was never
(on J reading Robert Kelly)
"And after luscious months of living they would say it's not so
very different from what they knew."
It was never the verse, but something thicker
dangerous to the finger; a bait trap
of honesty foraged from a conformed colony by a dominant
drone possessing a new Queen.
It was never the voice, but something tougher
sharper under the skin; tiny lancets
a barbed stinger from a defensive maneuver pumping venom
through a corpuscle of blood and water.
It was never the delivery, disoriented in direction
from an insufficient species of pheromone; some pulsing doubt
of return despite having uttered these very words, "Then we
would see what all that nakedness was about."
II. What it was always
on T listening)
"Love didn't make all the difference we thought it would."
It was always the reader behind the words. "Nothing can ever
be very different from what we know."