Who among us?
The speech is oppressive and leaden,
An expanse of few words,
yet these gravid, weighty,
spilling across our laps like hot stew.
The servitors are mute but eloquent:
We're not human, they seem to say,
as they move seamlessly through our lives.
They have other lives, infinitely rich, beyond our sight;
beyond our comprehension.
We, not they, are the intruders;
we, not they, vainly seek enlightenment
in the hollow night.
Reprinted from "hunger," a 1996 chapbook
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