What black thing should I wear today? wondered Jessi, coming dangerously close to wry self-awareness before being distracted by her reflection. She was painfully close yet still acutely far from realizing that she could fulfill the dual roles of spectator and star simply by talking, and listening, to someone.

You might wonder, what was Joel doing in Ghana that whole time? Why, he was writing a poem. He scribbled it from start to finish in one sitting, then spent the next two months tirelessly revising it; then he copied it for his own records on the back of a pay stub and put it in a hardcover Zadie Smith novel for safekeeping.


I was right: I broke the chains
(or stretched them) and reached the edge--clearly I saw
not the sun but the inside of yet a larger cave. With larger shadows

Like kittens raised in darkness I have only ever seen the cave wall. For one thousand years I have only seen a cave wall. Did my eyes develop only to the contours of a cave wall? Can
I see anything else? I can imagine something else--

The kittens, at least, are unafraid of darkness. I myself am quite accustomed. In fact, the darkness even takes shape for me and my eyes see light around it--

Who's hallucinating? I don't see anything that's not here. I think.

I reattach the chains, return to my place, content (deny)
having something to want.

The important thing is not to get arrogant. (How did I know what a sun was?)