Memorandum

Suppose my voice be unheard
among this muddle of other voices,
I ought to turn my back.
Instead I resolve to look
into the eyes of myself,
peer at reflections of vanity
thro’ shards of broken memories.
Perhaps I’ll cut off my ankles
and surrender beneath the feet
of descending angels,
till I am a bloody mess
a postscript
an asterisk
an echo.