[and everything is lost in ithe roar of winter air past open car windows]

you asked me why i go
[to poetry readings]
and i think that it's the voices
rolling off tongues like liquid glass

i forget to pay attention to what they're saying,
what they mean
and watch as faces blur together,
silver-blue like mercury,
pooling on the hardwood floor and lapping at my
folded legs.

and from the mouths pour lakes of innotation
a certain tone or shade
darker lighter brighter still
mouths open around beams of light
and everything is lost in the roar of winter air
rushing past open car windows.