i get up

perform my alienations
the city

more like a carbolic pit. more like

the ruling of rackets

appointments, errands, bills, emails,

and witnessings contiguous
not sure what to do with myself today

guess i’ll go to the street

shouting

who will read me?

the leaves of May vermilion are out

to blind me
kind regards, warm regards, cordially, yours sincerely, please don’t

hesitate to contact me

if you have any questions
lately

i’ve taken to conversations with myself

in the quiet fumaroles

i’ve taken to get-rich-quick schemes

self-aestheticising speech

monologue as dialogue dialogue as monologue

vertical thinking and the last enemy of

dreamful sleep
day year year day

the same disconsolate anomie

the same peptic work

the same pathological agitation
which alley to wander through?

dead? able to breathe?

by the force of aphasia and trismus

i cleave to words

in my silent vennel

i weave divine solitudes