“But it’s my own kind doing all the killing here”

I should be preparing myself for when

every expertise is made obsolete.

But instead I am guard-railing, telling

myself niche is really going to save

me from that bomb, that I’m on its outer-

reaches, behind, just maybe...  See, I am

a terrible person.  Simply run out

of page room, I stop struggling against

the measure.  I can’t but laugh at his face,

the thief’s, who thought to rob me.  But if I

were the thief, I wouldn’t have shown my teeth,

only leaped with purchase and, apart, leaped

again.  The way of doing things is done

for some time, until we’re chasing its thought.