Read a poem by another poet written
on the same day:

in the middle of the ocean

displacement. placed

quietly on a coffee table

a whirlwind of spun

ideologies or how few

pigeons are white

& graceful seemingly

transient and friendly

the stresses placed

specifically to the side of

exactitude lurching towards

it intently seeming

to sway seeming to believe

seeming out of practice

the beauty was hard

to take in prevalent hard

to get airborne

infection announcement or
homophony the only constant
as the wayside looms
the dime spins, phone
booths become obsolete
where the doors don't
close, a monument to a fortress
of domesticity blockaded