First Person Omniscient
I made her tell me of the affair,
every detail,
and I became him, the man who pulled
her into the closet,
opening the many rooms of her mouth,
knobs spinning,
and then I was her, pulling him
by the tongue
through the river of rooms in the mansion
of my mouth,
his eyes pressing into me, his eye
seeing all,
and then I was the closet, the space
they traveled through
on their way to the mansion, and then the real
I entered the closet,
the wind of doors slamming, bodies
rushing, gone-
my eye lost in the mouth of my pocket,
or is it my hand,
my dirty, awful hand.
poem by Jeffrey McDaniel
Added by Poetry Lover
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