pierce (ing, president, brosnan)

a strange combination of
couldn't move your hand,
smiles and dog's chew toys littering
your pristine playpen,
peacoats that suggest something
quite a bit more than
the slick cars that you're buying
with your slick phone
and your slick voice,
and christmas cheer,
of course.

prisoners of war hold their phones
a certain way.
those who have been tortured
hold it another.

and me, in my stupor of naivete,
i hold myself like a
servant to the unknown,
a game of charades in a sea of blindness.
looks like -
sounds like -

oh.