And, even when we extend ourselves, it's only to be included in a moment that stands still,
and so often we don't struggle to improve conditions, we struggle for the right to say, 'we improved conditions,'
and so often we form communities only to use them as exclusionary devices,
and we forget that somewhere man is beside himself with grief
and somewhere people are calling for teachers and no one's answering.
Somewhere a man stands, walks across the room, and breaks his nose against the door,
and somewhere these people are keeping records, and writing a book,
For now we can call it ' The Book About the Basic Flaw ' or ' The Book About the Letter A '
or ' Any Title That a Book About a Man That No One Cares About Might Have.'
And, as we turn the pages we call out the sounds of nothing; the sounds of a vanishing alphabet,
standing here waiting.
