Conceive of me as a fatted
shadow
pranced on piebald
puppet-screens
not.
Better an anti-shadow: I am the
doppelganger
of nothing. I haunt it
as time haunts a pocket-watch. A
mirror looks at me
and clouds.
I do not age
as you age.
I counter-recede into
the uneventuated horizon.
In me a thousand sepia suns never set
And in me the tip of the
subconscious iceberg
protrudes from an in-ground pool.
Boys and girls are the snakeskins
of my fashion whims
the attention of imitation stokes my chameleon
womb
and it opens like a
nacreous nightflower
like a dryad nested in the bark of sleep
like the lunar echo of an x-rayed skull
I cry only opals.
You who watch the waver of a marionette string
with such detachment - I watch you turn
a blind eye to the shared source
of that suspicious
umbilicus.
You circling sharks around my diving cage of
dreamless hopeless unsleep
I play your
Panoptic prisoner:
your shark-eyed cameras'
Argus eyes
set to soft-focus.
It is necessary
that I am viewed as a product.
So that you will not see
That I have produced you too.
Our shared complicity
you
Ayu
I.
You.
Mix.
Keep one eye on the split seams
That I show you
As I spill my clockwork guts
and cover the floor with a bed of roses
With the other eye watch my face
of star-fired
porcelain and
watch my mouth:
the
spot-lit skull-slit
speaker sputters
a
song
for
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