Dean Sobers
You start to hear yourself in the others’ voices.
How could you be among them—those so vicious, so stupid?
A distressed night, contriving alibis.
There’s nothing in a world you experience alone.
The search for something uncomplicatedly benign.
A living town. A living crowd. In its time.
Once, someone you trusted ripped you to pieces.
Now, part of you bristles at the idea of closeness.
You start to hear yourself—misgivings, weakness.
A voice! Guiding you home.
Home, till this particular song slows.
Alibis—they’re just alibis