As a self-awareness, he fails;
as an act, the audience
shuffles into an auditorium, half-empty.
They sit far apart to concentrate.
The oratory is brief, concise,
filled to the brim with something
akin to order. Failing voice,
near the end, Poem
takes a drink of water, wakes up.
He thinks about socio-environmental violence
and hypens, and
Poem grew up secure in knowing
that the critical mind was like
a good small engine and
As his head hits the podium
a word still exists.