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Back To: The Tyranny of Materiality
Thousands of vicious sharp-toothed fiends
are gnawing, their razor-like canines tear at the flesh
. . .
A tear swollen eye can do nothing but search through
such mist –
tingling, pins and nails; how the smell of sweet incense
neither covers up nor cleans
away the overpowering stench of loneliness, and a caring
voice is not either fresh
nor welcome, for it is solidly alone that the darkness
has kissed
this earthly mannequin . . .The Wall and I as prescribed
by the all too truthful mirror
are yet as one, and still the anguish prevails, as yes,
another day blends into surreal twilight
and the empty endless black settles upon me . . .
I am whole at last, comfortably free from infinite distress
. . .
Large and laughing, pale and purple, nearer, so much
nearer,
I cannot feel anything but shattering of glass and numb
evil that is wicked and white:
the silence grows louder than the music, my arms become
outstretched, the straining branches of some
crooked tree –
I count to three, swallow only the satin blonde ones,
then do four or six less . . .
Sandy swollen eyes reopen: so does the gnawing greet the dawn . . .
– 10/20/91