This is my skin
motherfucker, trying to say what
I should or shouldn’t be, stupid
is your title, not mine ‘cause I see
the picture to the edges, it is
more than you could ever hope
to understand, bookcase protractor
bitch, thinking the angles are a team
joining to jail us, and they are
a team mind you, on the other
side, where you don’t even
speak the language.
Seeing I am circular
sensation games, there is none
of a point to be had, nothing
profound ever occurs at night
really, or in the day, it’s all shadow
puppets like Plato said, disguising
disgusting opinions about all
the scapegoats braying
in unison, exterminations occur
just like you said they would
behind your words.
Lucky for me
that I’ve nurtured, deafness
to the howls, of your words
meaning nothing, not even
a piano trail crawling slowly
can make them seem profound
at all, even the slightest
little bit.