History has dreamed of me
And as such in its’ imaginings
Feels the painful days and tragedy
Of my great lament
Scorching the jagged edges of the world
It is a history that possesses
A capricious and intense sensitivity
A receptivity to suggestions of the imaginary
It bestows instability to the great vital rhythms of my life
And the misty memories of that present,
That present past, provide a misery of mood
Fills my veins with an inconsistency of feelings
Creating an all engulfing anxiety
Of fear and contempt for myself
Where amidst this great disorder
I fear that all hope has fled
Vanquished toward a black and purple sky
This causes all the great human dilemmas
To take up unwelcome residence in my mind
Which is tortured by a pervasiveness of antagonism
Antipathy and disturbance
You see I can no more escape from these
Obsessing reflections in my consciousness
Than I can from my own reflection in a mirror