i am
almost a nothing
as
i
thunder
piss
on the
garden stones/waltz thru hot wet fronds
stroke me
like fingers/like welcome
i am
like the
last man alive
finally
on
his
first day
over the edge
the swings
are tied up
for winter
in a
frozen
scene
like
a
movie/where
the apocalypse is quiet and neat
and
redemption lies
a few
easy
tricks
away
inside
i
confuse
the
lights/switches
loud like breaking glass
and
they only
uselessly
light
the empty rooms
behind me
in odd
shadows
shaped
like
the beaks
of night
monsters
in the spare
room
i
remember
all other
times here with
a clarity
i only ever discover
in the
ultimate late fried state;
the Nazi
drawings on my feet in the overhung morning shower
and
the long
limbo
afternoons
sick
and
sweating
on the thin mattress
mortal
with indecision/my
bag
already
packed
waiting
for whatever or nothing or the something everything
to
show
a
sign
in the
dead moth dust
i
anally
line up
my stuff
on the
book shelf
of
Kermaz
King
Leonard
& Lee
putting all my keys
and drugs and fags and wallet and everything
in
neat
symmetrical lines
and
pile
my loose change
in denomination order
before
i try to sleep thinking
that feeling like
an almost nothing
tired shell-boy
should bring slumber
suddenly
but
obviously
it
doesn’t
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