Page 74

He said, "Remember Foucault, and that

chapter on panopticism?"

I nodded, said, "Oh yeah, I got

that sense of endless criticism,

a watchful eye on all we sought."

I'd barely read the intro, then

skimmed chapter three, the big words

blurring into ink again,

a flock of unfamiliar birds

flying from my grasp, even then.

The title glowed, too bright for me,

on the syllabus, a heavy stone.

I thought if I just seemed to be

in on the joke, I wouldn't be alone.

Such a profound falsity.

Still feel a flush, a childish heat,

when I think of that specific page,

a sentence so profound and neat,

I faked it, played a different stage.

A silent, intellectual defeat.