a case of misreading

gunshot—but the bang is backwards
                                    bullets whizzing back into the barrel
                        ka-blam the words on brain, delight
                                    to pain so blasted they have to have heard it—
            or at least see the smoke, at least smell something


                                                what I read amongst the crowd, or don’t,
                                    instead ramming them into my head,
                        making them skate the words like a rink
                                    of ice and heat, until I reel with whirring blades
            and seem more real than sense, than what stays

                                                and points beyond me, perhaps to them,
                                    a crowd’s quiet unclotting into persons
                        beyond me, their distances felt so keenly
                                    through the reading, I’d hear their words at last            
for where I am, and stay open to their finding