Their secret rides our own whistled word,
for this and every
bird’s a love bird.
They’ll be tightening the chain
on my bike today. I’ll be done with
slipping and clacking.
Slick steel will join intentions to powers.
You’ll see where I’ve been when I’ve gone on by.
A man speaks on the bus to another man who hears voices (I hear this man, and the voice in my own head, but not the man on the other end of the line) and I wonder how the other man knows it’s not real, and a thing he should ignore. And all the many voices in my own head persist, and I wonder which is real, and how I know the difference.