These are pieces taken
from a mind of someone
falling in his own mind.

There are two significant bodies.
As the victim, one is tied
onto a wooden royal chair
while blindfolded; another
with scalpel at hand inflicting cuts,
sculpting flesh as beats
of Pornopop’s ‘Little Kafka’
play in the background.

Chiaroscuro. Lightbulb
in pendulum motion. From a distance,
there’s a bystander who can see
both of them in fluorescent smiles —
curious about the lack of cries
despite the absence of a gag.

Perhaps this is why poems require
too much words.

Here and there: a painting in progress,
an artist, an unidentifiable face on canvas.
You always remind me to forget you so
let me be your masterpiece instead.
And as the beauty of impermanence does
its work, his world fades away.