Unfortunately, I am still
on the etched stone,
standing on your pictographs
and making the effort to avoid allowing
my shoes to scuff-mark their meanings
into ancient oblivion. Oblivion.
Oblivion. Almost like obvious.
Unfortunately, I am still fluent in your language;
my brain has not abandoned
the letters, and your lies are inserted in my alphabet
like butterfly joints in a perfectly constructed table—