wtf pwm

from To the Chapel of Light: A Film-in-Verse

Joshua Young

dear brothers,

we meet the poet and his friend in a room without windows. they stay huddled in corners opposite, without speaking, till the room is so silent we can hear blood coursing. the poet rises, looks around, says, “we got our hands on a map. it ain’t done yet, but we got the rest coming.”

“what about the choir?” the friend says. “warn them of the choir.”

outside, a train moans six blocks over, gulls scatter preaching gospels of the city, and the snakes wrapped around his arms start slithering, squeezing, choking. he rubs them and they calm. “oh yes, the choir will pull you off course if you let it. do not let it call to you. do not listen if it does. those voices do not sound like the road, that’s how you’ll know when not to listen. my friends, you must only listen to what the road tells you.”

at the door, they turn to smile.

the poet salutes and he and his friend disappear into the alley as though they’re crawling out of caves.

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