I sat by my window today
And looked out and upon
The voice of my frenzied self whose spatterings
I could almost make [it] out
Of the window’s soggy walls
Upon the puddled ground of my body.
Body split: mind, soul, figure floating in a space of unknowing.
Observations as follows:
[1] Would I[?] make a splash when I
Plummet
[2] Down[?] this ditch I transmogrify
Into mere simulacra of
What I
[3] Was[.] I ever really
[4] Alive[?] I felt in this
Pit of words
That you descend in
[5] Now[.] I don’t know who I am
As the wall’s incline pierces
[6] Through the puddled self[./,] I’m drowned in some flowery
[7] Prose[./,] how I wish I could write you
Like how in this cavity
I see the clowns make fools of themselves above me
Twisting, I too see the jesters below dance their jigs
[8] For the king[.] is nothing but a man
On a throne, so why do I praise
him, his sitting, his groundedness so
[9] Fiercely[?] I feel the desire
Gravitate me to be less
Of an image of myself
And more of a
[10] Man[./,] I hate
How long I’ve been in this pit.
Grounding: simulation or imitation?
Draw conclusions like so:
False wreck, wreck me.
wreck, wreck, wreck.
I nailed it, nailed me:
Strewn in the puddle
Crucifixion, to be nailed, wrecked,
Image plastered,
Painting hung,
Stroke, stroke, brush stroke:
Hanging still in a coma of understanding—
No, don’t joke—
Joke
Jokes on
Me still floating
In some never-ending
Joke
Joke
Joke’s in the air.
Gah, what a terrible thing to still be
Descending, floating above it
All[.] of it ends, shades drawn, fade to black:
Scene
Scene
Scene.
