18.08.25
It is myself I have never met,
face pasted on the underside
of my sleepless night of Rorschachs
unstuck the objects i do not own
whose floor shifts ten thousand utensils
it is beautiful but it is still
not mine insects in a glass case
porcelain in palsied hands
a total worldview you have friends
comprised a truth which
no one ever utters
in the crux of perceived life
competition eating out
itself be an old ghost weeping
without name medication in the shape
of the evening carouser in the shape
body makes bent over,
freeze dried extinguished faith
cry a million times
telepathy hope another succession
after midnight tongs silver eclipse
I pull from myself against
the law of aggression
Double-Entry terms
settle that account
