The line that makes the face
old is easily traced, but the one
that isn’t there, isn’t there
to be erased, that one’s, that one’s
Why do I feel the need to wear a hat
when I go outside? I’m not that bald
yet. Yet, voila, old man,
a hat.
Talk, make a numbly sound at least
when there’s clearly nothing to say
nothing you could say; the word that startles
the spring that releases
the drawer that hides the clue
doesn’t exist, has never existed
