I know a thing or two about loss:
In a room of happy men and women
I’m the interloper, a caste thing
Like a button on a drowned man’s coat
So that you must look away—
Americans like a healthy difference
Not a febrile haunted body
With static of blind
Or hands flapping.
My tribe…
How many times
Have I left a party
To stand among crickets?
Planet of the Blind 