Lost in Transit
When you pull your old self out to show,
the dead you don’t know and the dead you do
come smiling recognition who you are:
just nothing but what they think they know.
Shirt like lost dog on suburban corner
or sneaker highway-side, the occasional
eyeglasses, apron, longjohns, brassiere
next to those places we all pass by:
so much for us and the people we know,
even when they lie next to us night by night.
The old self-us they dream, while we’re in flight.
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