As if what people are is all they’ll ever be
you close your eyes
and it’s suddenly night everywhere and always

nothing can reach you not even

the agitated ghosts of ancient philosophers
swirling around our hot basement classroom
but to you it’s just words love death etc.

so why wake you to see the firelight

beating frantically on the walls of Plato’s cave
when your sleeping face is beautifully composed
like that of a fairy-tale princess

with a piece of poisoned apple caught in her throat

Howie Good