After the crowd disperses.

Come over
Come ‘hither’;’
From where you all gather
A private screening
for the disc jock cadavers

Betwixt.
This audience was whitty,
This audience had the aces and the sleeves.
A fortuitous supplement of an artery.
Despite what you can do with it,
One letter is not enough it seems

The image was external:
Exoskeleton smudge –
Processional editors
decided to call in sick
to support this spontaneous
persistent childhood memory.

The ground was beaten and warn
It’s still warm
The cool night air
With lingerances of words you can see
Far too many footprints,
Behind far too many insights
Just one guy left sitting
Asking
“What could they want with me?”

The speaker?
Surprises no more.
– another individual perspective
from the store.
The sun rises,
just another circle illuminescence.
One more.

Thy words lifted like a spear
and thoughts ye spake clothed feelings well.
‘Whitty’ I admit I found a little queer,
though happy am I for having passed this way.

Your queerness is your own,
my audiencerto

Your misspelling of ‘whitty’ is what I found queer (not that there’s anything wrong with that).

Would you like to explain the piece?

It’s about all of you… the audience.