Reading, part II

I'm reading these poems
for somebody else,
Who may be me.
There is a tooth-calling
husked in print,
inverted awl eyes who
who can you hear?

I'm reading these poems
for somebody else.
Did you write them?
Taut skein day gauze
tightly tucked round
"the life." Underneath,
the manifest juts or
etches out our shapes.

I'm reading these poems
for someone else so the
scissors can cut cut the etched
up beings now animated
or, as so often is the case,
failed beings with cleft heart notes
or how war slices us into twos....