Silence, though a dense and wet snow,
did not affect the gas mileage
of our car. Vain hopes of a red E –
the exit from this thick inertia
vanished behind us – though still appeared close.
That would be a palpable metaphor
for our emptiness. A foreshadowing
of future events. Yet, the girth
of the tank loomed like our heavyset November
Stuffed and gurgling dynamo
filling the silence as we remember.
Reality clung like cobwebs to the face
of a fat cat. Its stuffy tang on our sandpaper tongues.
Its sticky body meant to capture passing pests
had become a meal. You redressed me as a lawyer
with those sticky words. You stopped at alleged, the
next word too lodged inside you to come out.
Veritas Ex Logos 