Good morning elated mourning: I personate waste.
Sound it, look it
Embody its every caricature
Entirely materialize it
The taction of wake impaired—
Like my mind’s still on the pillow
To rouse in the evening—
Delirium.
I imagine counter possibilities
Cleanliness, hunger,
A closet of infantry dispatch proxies
Like my mind can stay on the pillow.
My body isn’t working though she’ll
Never fail in performing
The worst:
Caffeine, cigarettes.
I desire self-inducing vomit,
Make myself retch to parch and quit;
Hibernate at least.
Gorge on a million food-things
Go to sleep
To actually sleep—
To rise in years cadaverous sickly.
Get me out of these quarters
If appearance could resist
The internal
Like dirt happiness the façade of
Truthful happiness
Like my pungent face a liar
Like simulated energy in obligation
With keeping this machine in labour.
Explode the noon hour:
The mirror
Has its poker face on.
The mirror
Is emancipated from its inner workings
And reflects with logic but
Without circumspect
Without matching its environment
I envy its extreme advantage
Over my feelings.
Reflection finds me,
I do not match nature
The sunny, most pretty of day-goings
I light another one,
Maybe I will go outside today
Afterall.
