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If a man falls to his knees in a forest

and there’s nobody there to hear

his soft weeping

and the trees are all standing around

not doing anything

and the animals have turned

back to what is their own

and the insects are loitering in the doorways

of his eyes and ears and nostrils

rubbing their hands together with



does it make

sense to sing happy birthday

in a room with noisemakers and conical hats

and streamers and balloons above a white table

where a man is sitting

weeping on his knees in a forest

like dysentery among the desserts

like the suicide hanging

beside a burst piñata

the laughter and shrieks of children

mixing with birdsong?

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