Issue 151, Summer 1999
I was born in the circus. I play the flat man.
My voice is flat, my walk is flat, my ironies
move flatly out to sock you in the eye.
Hands, feet, vowels, hair, shadow, feelings of community,
strings (you do not see) all flat.
The epic model I guess I'll
pass over. Homer likening stalemate in war to a carpenter's
chalkline. My flat world cost only $2 to view
at first, later this price like others went up.
Brute natures and angles in transparent draperies all alike