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Pif Magazine
6115 NE 185th Street
Kenmore, WA 98028
ISSN: 1094-2726
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It seemed there were so many things secret,
Not to betray. I took each section of your rage
And lay it before me on the splintered darkness.
Of course each jagged piece, for me, fit
Perfectly. I saw the frame without seeking;
Could see nothing but the way it squeezed
In light angles round your face. As you spoke,
Things of note bunched and danced in mid-air.
I thought, there should be two sides; I can't
See so clearly how you are without a back,
A flip-fate I cannot cease validating, as if my
'Yes' were some 'automatic truth,' some high-
Tech thing, extended virtually for the wishing.
And yet, my dear, I see, I see. And the needle
Of all that nothing I can offer you sinks down
Into the old black scratch, the whisper-groove,
Your truth, your life, our jigsaw lips unpuzzling.
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