[Metapoem III / Experimental II]
Variations on a theme; experimentation on technique.
I can
feel Him
in my mind
I can hear Him scratch at the doors
picking at the walls
Don't
let the lights go out! never the silence!
Why is it
when I
shatter the
mirror and
try
to rearrange
the shards
does the reflection remain the same?
"Perhaps if I just sever our left hand we
You know we won't ever stop; we like this"
"won't have to worry about doing it again?
too much. Now stop your nonsense and pay"
"Because, we've only done it a few times...
attention: there's another one for us."
As I lie in bed in my room, I notice them: edges—where wall meets wall, meeting ceiling.
"Hmm... no, that won't do; the edges are much too crass, and too boring!" Better that they
were more rounded, concave. "—There! Much better." The window shutters as well
leave much to be desired; cascading as a waterfall is more their wont. The ceiling again:
"Surely that's beginning to crack", and crack it does. First slowly, then quickening—"fissures,
at last!". The fragments of this enclosure fall away, are discarded as insignificant bits of
rubbish to the nothingness. Opens the void, and I stream, tip of my mind first, into a—
Desert moonshine
—scorch me!—scorch me!—scorch me!—
Moon shines in the desert
—bless me!—bless me!—bless me!—
Shine deserts the moon
—save me!—save me!—save me!—
I watched crippled boy, hobbling street,
and to the hardened ground—
And did care.
raped a woman just the night;
I hurt way imaginable—
And I did not .
I killed a man with my
Because he looked at wrong —
I .
stole girl her bedroom;
I tortured and her with a finesse—
And not care.
M.M. — December MMXI; Februarius MMXII
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