Noelle Kocot

The Outcomes

Solitude can be compared to a lamp
That fucks. Telepathy. Aging. It’s
The same thing, this barreling down
The limpid avenues. You dissect the

Monster. The cat is not well. How
It winked and cooed just yesterday!
You are “transparent.” You are “articulate.”
How then under the mobile stairs

Will I ask a favor of the coffee breeze?
Come here, angel. You were never
An impersonator. The sinister plots
Directed at me only, the nourished

Remnants of pride. Something is
Smoldering in the barn, the outcomes varied.