Little Social

My big nostalgia 
speaks the name of 
a place and time where
there are so many faces
that names blend smooth
and shame upends the 
grooves chiseled into 
the road at the end
of the island. We,
we! There are a 
couple Me, but 
you see, those
are constituents
of this greater part,
this plate of art. Ceramic
heat, glazed eyes, these are
incidental meals and the true
picture is that picture of so many
people not saying anything because
nothing needs to be said for these heads
to be together in this body world swirl.