Comments about Benjamin Roque
The cremation was premature,
Bischoff admits when apart from the parade
that rounds the corner of another Sunday—
Cuts urban air into diamonds.
Pendulous cufflinks like nickels wink at his back,
made visible as if by electrocution.
The advance, an underwater sprint,
mocks even a banquet of opiates;
Its inevitable rush
toward absence bookends life—
A domestic slur on anonymity.
Madness in his voice, Bischoff stalks
arbitrary sidewalks, sex worn floors—
The city devours naked language
with unhinged jaw—
Spits a cloud of dust, once ...