Lo grasses—no guessing needed here—we are poet. Standard
issue, one per household, we are probably disconnected, one of a thousand
which belong in a museum made of thick paperback we are (every-
thing we have used and set aside still lies
image, responsible for ten thousand un-broadcasted channels, each of us
a thin reservoir of skin ruptured by lens
light like a plum squeezed in a fist.