'have you gone west? all the way west?
she says, nothing,
she says, comatose,
'I have been ocean to ocean
seen the sea cuts the middle cuts
in between, cuts world in half,'
not noticing, not seeing, her twitch
unheard of sentences,
she wrote once, before tomorrow, before all this
'what an awful occurrence, an awful thing, an
awful poem, why?
isn't there one story worth it to tell?'
he could make no sense of it, remorse,
talking to himself,
a jumble of wrath, moving lips,
'I am a great man.'
he wrote, hoping it was true
making it so, by the great action
of pen, hoping she wouldn't laugh,
already vengeful, hating her,
'I said I enjoyed it. That it was good.
What more do you want?'
she says, wondering why to care,
where to go next,
how to respond.