Wesley ChouBoston, Massachusetts At coffee-flecked boothsAnd down corridors, wendingA way through the staccato chatter,We guzzle down the details: Oh let me tell you,One fisherman to another,Of fingers turned tassel by a firecracker,Soiled plastic and muffled screams leakingOut a hermetic room that anImplacable observer lords over. We’re in on a dirty game,As if our lives have…