Unseen in the corner of the eye,
you come to into nothing,

like a useless wish,

like a diaphanous Madeline
in another room,

like an empty assumption
drifting above a canyon of thought-

lessness--a slo-mo Knievel
who never reaches the other ramp.

Use forgiveness
to outwit sins of omission,

pass up the chance to practice avoidance,

celebrate with silence,

fail, after numerous canceled attempts,
to make it onto the secret society’s agenda,

make nothing of a blank expression,

miss the committee meeting
in the parlor, just before the Gestapo arrive,

forget to lament not having lamented,

never know you can never know.

Randy Blythe lives in north Alabama. His first full-length collection of poetry, The Human Part, was published in 2014 by FutureCycle Press. His poems have appeared most recently in Salt Hill, Concho River, and Pleiades.