Oratory
There’s a moment in the Herzog I love
after the bear has been opened, after the trash
bags are filled and emptied on the table,
then the bodies accounted for, divined for
the bad faith of each puncture, each defensive
laceration, after the tape is heard (no visuals
to stage at this last encounter) and the heroics sung,
the appropriate morals unspooled for us,
when our singer — the coroner — comes
to the end of his rehearsals, his dumbshow
of instructive gesticulations, and the scene
should be over but the camera sticks,
asks for one more testimonial, the tender
indecency of a single sincere moment
when he doesn’t know what comes next,
or what he should do now with his hands.
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