Inertia drags its feet. To be requires sweat.

We come out sluggish as slippers.


It takes effort to scrape the ice off the windshield

of morning, to try to see.


It takes time to untangle the knots in a blonde wig.

A radio announcer cannot rouse even himself.


O hollow entrance, what are you concealing?

Accents overlap to form the universal voice.


Surrogates will listen for you.

Static is the perfect excuse. 


You can be idle for the rest of your existence.

You can ignore these leaden messages.


All the voices that have entered you 

will find their way out again.

Julie Eliopoulos’s poems have previously appeared in EVENT, The New Quarterly, Room Magazine and Vallum. She lives in Milton, Ontario.