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.