As Joseph Adjusts His Charisma

(photography by Raquel Meyers)

by Colin James

Sure there's contour

among the bodies in the bushes,

as there are notebooks on the flora.

It's the coughing that's unnerving

idolatry, haltering.

May as well be at the beach, staring.

I am just walking my dog, man.

The cars come around the corner fast

their high beams blind me momentarily.

I see nothing else on these cloudless nights,

other than these wanderings.                                     

Sure, someone threw you back

as I would an old T-shirt.

Your followers and

their flickering torches

extend like comparisons

over a series of small hills.

They are spaced out eventually

hidden in seamless rhythm.

Voices can do the same

without the patience.

How were we realistically

able to find a ride back into town?

It still bothers me to this day.

Before then, I had

never met the Druid

I couldn't bargain with.