me: "today i feel big
i feel very big
colossal, in fact.
wingspan all-encompassing
beaming bristled coughing light
day happily backwards.
i feel significant today
really, really important.
didn't polish my own shoes
left home; home wept quietly because it would miss me.
today i feel hungry
very hungry
ravenous, in fact.
hungry for your company
hungry for broken shards of warmth
hungry for the day"

you: "you look tired"

me: "....oh"

though not a man in the mirror, per se
more a man behind it
with a penchant for schaudenfreude
smile yellow with sadism
the rot, the cavity
grinning from behind the glass
like some ******* Cheshire Cat
to my Tired Insecure Alice.

no two ways about it:
he is there and i am here
symmetrical
but for the man's barbed tongue
perforating mirror and
licking at the corners of my brain.

he sings an ode to a spindly leg
torso of crush'd cardboard box
predisposition for loquacity
(not a city you should visit)
and badly drawn countenance
scrawled across coffee-stained parchment.

so convincing is this
man behind the mirror
with his pejoratives
administered with utmost precision
surgically removed volition
saying things like:
"The City That Never Sleeps
would cower at the indelible image
that is the hulking bags under your eyes."

i have nicknamed him "Conscience"
in the hope of wrestling back control.

When I’m the
last of the fallen,
the absolute last
that Death ignores,
you’ll find me
crawling toward
the bright and sunny,
the endless calm,
the milk and honey.

and so the melody went: C, A, G, E, C, A, G, E, C, A, G, E
and he was locked inside it
and his heartbeat was in 9/8; a rhythm he struggled to move to
and it set his veins to boiling temperature
and the blood bubbled like soup on a stovetop
and the vessels burst like a boat in a storm

                                                                           ...until he found the key,
                                                                           that unlocked the CAGE.

They say a picture is worth a thousand words
And the horse with the broken leg
Is lamentably doomed to the stable.

They say a picture is worth a thousand words
But a picture is still worth not enough
To put any more food on my table.

i got lost
in the library
to think my time was wasted
or rather - borrowed
and left by the orphaned paperbacks
like the last dog remaining
at the rescue shelter.

i got stalked
in the library
to think i worried
about finding cover
when, in fact, i found thousands

and i hid behind them
skipping through
hospital wards
where the bereaved
wore glistening plot armour,
and American homes
where paternal affection
was grievously mistook
by European men
with lyrical prose

and when i emerged
found my bearings
set my feet
in the tar of reality
it did not treat me kindly

so, to the librarian:
if i disappear again
please assume i'm safe and sound
because if this is what being lost is like
i'd rather not be found.

Jeremy draws a snail on his lips,
so that he won't forget how to say the word.
"Snail," he says, twisting his tongue around the syllable.
after he meets a cute limbless baby, he punches his own arm
to appreciate his capacity for arm pain.
Jeremy sells his house for five dollars
*** he feels bad
asking for more.
He also feels bad
pirating movies,
but not stealing donuts
to regift to the homeless.
Jeremy loves his dog
but not his wife.
Jeremy's nice
in a weird way.

here, take this
you're well-dressed, well-groomed
not quite well-adjusted
but you'll get there soon, one must hope...
apron goes in one hole, loop around, across
here, let me help -
now you're ready for
(re)action...
trip flat palm shaking
ceramic plates
make great crashing sounds
and even better prison shanks
apparently
i apologise as profusely
as a butchered animal bleeds...

"ah, it's alright mate
**** happens"

indeed, it does...

...looks like he swerved
into the wrong lane
one white line up the nose
and Sir Tired Trucker
forgets about the white lines
adorning the road...
everything begins as debris
he was just returning things
back to their natural order
like me, the other day
when i gave the library back its books
see? one and the same...
authoritative man
steps out of the car with the flashing lights
assesses the damage
assesses such a sudden loss of life
and treats it with a shrug...

"ah, shame really but
**** happens"

indeed, it does...

...boys will be boys
they say
hot-headed, cold-blooded
a warm bed and a
home ground advantage...
he took something from her
the only thing
standing up for her safety
be the hairs on her neck
now wrapped around a little finger...

"ah well, i made a mistake
but **** happens, doesn't it?"

no, it doesn't, you ******* pig.