12 (Going in Blind)

this is always the hard part

going in blind

opening a book you know
nothing about, authorless,
sans cover and plot, but
rife with nondescript
theme, pellucid
innuendo;

bleak, beautiful, barren
as a salt flat, devoid of
detail or clarification

questions asked can’t be
sent back, but they can be
left behind to hang
until death sees them on
their way to the places where
unanswered questions go to
die

blind

once they’ve been
crucified on the ask,
they’re worthless as a
Kmart clearance sale,
old newsprint skittering down
windswept streets, urban
tumbleweeds where answers
should be

and you’re stranded
making guesses,
walking down cobwebby
basement stairs in humid
darkness, spider crawl of
foreboding on the back of
your neck with every
downward step into
vague unknown;

going in blind

[For RBF and Richard Scissorhands]

Poem by Shane Douglas Keene

READ THE SERIAL NOVEL BY JOSH MALERMAN