My interior
monologue is a dialogue
between Head and Tail,
those twins joined at the back
and flattened to face anything
but one another.
They take turns
speaking for me
according to pattern
and a dash of circumstance,
muffled protests
from the one face-first
in cold dirt
and overcooked confidence
from the other.
Sometimes
something sets them spinning,
chasing delusions of
union
in a trick blur
that lets them both catch
daylight and scream
its shine
together.
