as they found themselves
strangely at odds with
a pilcrow mark in each stanza
mr nothing finally accepted
imposed on him by the poet
temporary accommodation
with dubious identity
and a forged polling card
touching the straps attached
to the uncomfortable bunk
for the forced to take a refuge
from harsh predilections
in all innocence he wondered
if the poet ever liked him
self casually reflected
on a scrap of paper
mr nothing examined his body
the poet made him aware of
his constantly bleeding nose
hypersensitivity to sunlight
and allergy to dairy products
even forced him to visit the loo
with all the petty physiology
not befitting a lyrical character
there was nothing derogatory
about this new accent per se
however it made mr nothing
a little uncomfortable at times
maybe even embarrassed
when in respectable company
debating the intricacies of renga
he had to face indigestion
through the paper walls
of mr nothing’s place
the poet could hear
a neighbour reciting
kaddish for an atheist
and thought of his father
he had never mourned
he barely remembered
the abandoned fishing rods
and the moonshine bottles
or even that plastered hole
in the bathroom door
punched with a naked fist
for not shaking hands
and there were words
some unspoken others
shouted out or tried not to
in all souls’ day though
these were recited
by mr nothing
born out of them
mourning the death of ivan ilyich tore them
asunder when the poet noticed yawning
he stepped back from the mahogany lectern
on which someone scratched pedicabo ego
and causing a moment of consternation
among the traders of brevis in longo
he pulled his face off with mr nothing mask
aware of his grammatical inadequacy
mr nothing considered the differences
between the simple past and the present
perfect tenses as overused by the poet
preterite somehow could not capture
the consequences of his past actions
armed with a dictionary still unsure
how to face the old memory of kirrha
not to mention the endless ringing
phones in the pockets on mount meron
he listened to the bells of the cathedral
and added matzos do the shopping list
with no one to blame
to bear a grudge against
for all the things that
could not have happened
in a slightly different order
of personal pronouns
mr nothing took a picture
of the full moon marked
with blooming phlox
and some onlookers
holding their umbrellas
they both knew the ordeal
of nocturnal vigilance
in the trial by cloudburst
it was a story like many
typed for the innocents
with a questionable purpose
if only the poet stopped
laughing before he decided
between a stolen remington
and a smith-corona
found at a flea market
mr nothing never thought about anything
useful words like scrumptious or innocuous
and caressing on the tip of his tong slipped
their social obligations once freed from
the trammels of heathen grammar rules
he tried to hide his seams from the poet
rarely questioning if things need meaning
to have a purpose and just out of interest
in a hollow subject learning injunctions
his impunity was assumed as a birthright
exploring the anatomy
of timeless classics
in smooth leather covers
with headbands made
of mercerised cotton
mr nothing found a sketch
of himself and the poet
sitting on the floor
between the shelves
drawing some daubs
on the pages of books
it used to be a place
for recalcitrant siblings
mastering the art
of emphatic period
with a few premises
and a bowl of porridge
they no longer read
anything but notes
on flaps of the dust
jacket of russian realists
and the stock leaflet
the year the greek derivative
locked the doors marked
the windows with colours
wandering on derelict streets
pebbled with stones
and the cry of seagulls
mr nothing realised one
more of a curse likely being
called names or spat upon
he forbade the poet a word
about the theognidean corpus
in the covers of don juan
as if encomia to larcenists
kept his desires hidden
in a genderless language
there were no suffixes
to betray him in public
only the consequences
hidden pilcrow 