Alone in My Head (PoTFv#18)
I am lonely in my head; I did not invite no friend nor foe.
I wander again and am stranded in my strength,
I explore, mindful, because I am alone in my head.
I am entirely external, absorbing every experience.
I arrive at a baroque gallery of meaningless art.
By the concourse, most pleasantly staged in a diorama—
Celadon pleurants huddle shamefully.
I animate them accordingly. Clay robes soften to
Brocades of stargazing sparkle.
Their mantles swallow themselves, revealing the barren
Muse of their unfinished faces.
They dance in circles, every step breaking their
Unhinged joints where their knees should be.
The floodlights switch on. The watchman steps out of a shadow.
It’s three a.m. How much fucking noise do you plan to make?
My lights switch on. I am smeared in blood and clay,
Like I was freshly baked by god himself.
But I merely observe; I am pensive again and
I did not invite the watchman in.
