Awkward D.J.

Suppose you don’t have to prove yourself—prove
everything—all the time, to everyone
when you share your life some: take a lover,
a roommate, a classroom, a route for Meals
on Wheels, a wife, a child. See how it feels.

Easy to believe the loner capable
of any number of horrible acts:
from burning garages through to snuff films
and back beyond to committing simple acts
of occasionally pretty haiku.

How much a pirate radio superstar
are you—when the world can’t find you on air?
Then the crime you’re committing is more like
littering: or just another simple act
of occasionally pretty haiku—

Alone in his room
He played Smiths records and talked
Awkward D.J. between songs

Alone in his room
He imagined her living
Alone in her room

Or he hoped she was
Living. In her room. Alone.
There’s … always … TV

Alone in his room
He dreamt the perfect outdoors
He plotted some things

A tree falls in trees
Deep in untended black shapes
Hiding in plain sight

One room. One city.
Deep in untended black night
Shapes. Hide in plain sight

Approaching shadow
Lapping up the western face
Thinking: tomorrow

—CHRIS CHAMBERS

(Originally published summer, 2002.)