Come home.
Wonder if this is really home.
Feel the air cling to and buzz on your skin
as you exit the plane.
Watch neon write poems
with the glare and hiss of brilliant letters like slit veins
on the darkened windshield of the taxi cab
that pulls up to the curb.
Feel your throbbing head scintillate
as the night slowly pours into your eyes and ears. Watch it
compete with the footage of the last three days
as it loops around your brain, pulling you forward
to the inevitability of an angry stage
about to break under your collective weight.
Rehearse what you are going to say
as you assume the stage.
Wonder if you really do
have anything to say at all.
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