Clear away
what has faded
from importance.

Unpack 
a borrowed comb, 
test it against your thin head.

Replace all
that is known of you
with a bomb.

Do you still matter?
Welcome to a world
of doubt.

Pretend
this makes sense. Try to
drum up support for it,

phone your last friends,
mourn the busy signals
though they taste like

release. Is that rain?
Trot outside and sip.
It’s bitter.  What did you

expect? A promise,
on the record, of 
the stamp of approval?

Look at the wall outside,
sparkling wet. A fresco
of a World War II destroyer.

Painted rudely over
a corner of it, the name
“Susan.”  Do you know

a “Susan?”  You used to.
It’s not a sign, you decide,
but you smile.