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