a guy
after 140 different reasons
couldn’t unravel his unlocked door
posing
as
a
bricklayer,
he
escaped
from
some
remote
fishing village
off
the
coast
of
Maine
but inevitably unable to reckon
how all the drips leaked together
while drowning gasping choruses
that voiced the necessities of his life,
his final breaths illuminated
that last long dusty tunnel
composed of 140 letters from the alphabet
postscript:
(5 years later in an abandoned field
I came upon a primitive brick wall
erected in the shape of a cross,
no doubt ruins from someone's past life)
Maine
1981