I turn off all the lights and play black out.
I swear I won’t turn my flashlight on.
I wash myself with dark soap.
I am the inner tube
In blackness’s tire.
I feel the whites in my eyes
Turning on me like Sammy the Bull.
I put on shades.
If I could only disappear into a fist
I’d know what it is to be a team
“‘I take out a picture of you and argue with it,’ writes NYC poet David Lawrence in Lane Changes. Strange, visceral, knowing voice. A voice that turns against itself, defines its destiny only to wriggle out of it. A voice full of riveting, haunted tenderness. Lane Changes is volatile: a hilarious anecdote that ends in sudden silence, a half-open wound. A fascinating book.” – D. Nurkse