At the party, a light turned on
inside one woman and it shone
through her skin and shirt.
A man brought a private
darkness with him. He climbed
inside it but still we heard his voice.
One person bent the air,
warping what we saw
making things seem to wiggle,
making us giggle. And some of
a verbose fellow's words became
visible and rose to the ceiling,
full of gas, helium, perhaps.
Only briefly did I become a
turtle so as to be left alone.
Hans Ostrom
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