The News
Numb and number
to the number
of deaths in an hour.
The somber weight of data –
how many struck by stray
bullets, how many
land mines, live
wires, grenades – I
understand fleetingly. How many
dead of carbine fire
on the L.A. freeway,
or under the Golden Arches,
bloodied beside the red-
nosed clown. Lumber-
ing crosstown, what number
fall down man-holes, what number
crack skulls on black ice –
where blood in Rorschach
puddles is anyone’s guess.
What number ends this
numbness? One. Who,
falling, locks my gaze,
says, number me
among those you praise.