by David Wojahn

    how， o spirits， shall I invoke you， who cannot count himself

    among the chosen？

    My writings & keenings are interior & treated by appropriate

    prescription drugs，

    to whom my conversion is incomplete， for some days I devote myself

    solely to my dead

    in my error I do seek them & do wail. From the wire mesh

    I glimpse the chalk marks，

    aflicker on a kind of slate. Here is the glyph of patchouli-smell，

    graven on a scarf

    or silken dress. & here the character for a chin nicked while shaving，

    stubble edging a dime-sized birthmark，