The old actor
with a face of gristle
specked like mold with
thick, short
and colorless hairs
and almost no eyes
at all—
the old actor
with the $200,000 voice,
strained, weak and
tired, says "I don't know
anymore" fifteen times
successively, his life
and final breath
again and again,
monotonous like mass

The old actor stands, taller than you
or I would ever expect,
and when I ask if re-
hearsing his own death
is a bit disconcerting,
he smiles, reading
no lines
, and says "I don't know
if it's the best job in the world,
but maybe it's the only

      - These are the dreams that break us -