Practice for Being Empty
–Mary Jo Bang
I’m only a human. Always is only in me
as long as I last. What do I want? Don’t ask.
We forget who we are. Conformists all alone
looking for a fake mirror and finding it
in some poker-faced nobody
sitting across the aisle. To be like some other
and feel that while I am walking around
on the only surface that exists in here —
some stage set designed for collapsing.
While I don’t the world falls away.
This circus I’m part of was built just for this.