Tony stops, just like that.

He sits for two hours
and forty five minutes
without moving.
His knife twitching like
a muse in his pocket. 
But he doesn’t reach,
he doesn’t

acknowledge.

He wishes he had a tail to show.
He’d show an angry snap of that thing
but

he’s stopped now, 

his winding’s run out.

If he’d been born animal
things could have been so different
but humans being what they are
it’s remarkable that Tony

can be so still when he’s always been
such a loud little twitch of a man

and so Dumb, dumb
to how he was supposed to come
correct, dumb to how
he was meant for success

and nothing like this 
was ever supposed to happen

but don’t weep
whatever you do.

That shit’s contagious.
Tell folks he just stopped.
Tell them,
Tony stops like that from time to time.

Tony says so, it must be true.