revealing little else but hunger
and mothers will still wait
outside, fearing the child
will be swallowed up
by the wild lit window,
where a small candle makes a
warmth within the fearsome thing.
KEVIN GALLAGHER
Go Ask Rachel Whiteread
We're crowded by the invisible.
No wonder history's so hard
to
move.
No one's alone at the dinner table.
We have been joined by the predictable
function of the drama of our moods .
We are crowded by their invisible
probables of hands, the impossible
love, markets, time, and the burdens of proof.
The wind alone can't turn a table.
Farms, now malls, once fields with many stables.
Under the cement prance their horses ' hooves.
We are crowded by the invisible.
Yes, at first they are quite unseeable.
But see, they return . They've always been loose.
They sleep with
LIS.
They set oLlr tables.
They cannot be contained by bars or cables.
Look at her doors! Their jambs are unscrewed!
We are crowded by the invisible.
No one's alone at the dinner table .
