Something happened in here
that I can't quite write about    A front 
tooth of his is chipped and why 

his poem explores: Much like God
it's good I don't need him
because he is no longer there

I cannot write about the morning
we were supposed to look at Eliot's "Prufrock"
and fog shuffled across the yard

like a zombie    everyone locked up
until it passed    waiting for safety
for the moment white jumpsuits 

could be scoped and gauged by towers
Or when a bird was trapped inside 
and an inmate corralled it with a box

and set it free    Some things happen
in a way that makes them too big
to be carried in the lines and relays

that web overhead    He turned
in his books today    In his handshake 
there seemed to be a promise

that a great many lives are to be lost
and lost more than once
but that he will have no hand in it