I’m doing it wrong, wrote Karen Solie, solo.
We’ll duet her: ditto. Unless, that is, the truth
In solipsism is that we’re her or she’s us,
In which case, not a ditto, only an echo,
A partial echo. All echoes are, in the end.
Steal just to kick things off. Steal to kickstart yourself
Started. Steal, kick, steal, kick, start, started. Splutter
A bit and then off you go, outboard motorboat
Roaring, bored, overboard. Solie titled her poem
The World, by which she seemed to mean a luxury
Cruise, a really big boat circling around the globe,
A neat trick of a poem, the world cruising the world,
And we in the engine room agree, she needn’t
Have feared. She got it right, fake world afloat at night.
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