Some dwell in possibility
I only rent

Or, how I roiled
the muses

why I host only monsters
their aberration, their interruption

of forever, of the script
I read, write and forget forever

knocking me now with it
where we sprawl over a scene by Artaud

it’s written half-way
between thought and shriek, I enter

and read myself gasping blue
on cue, they drag me by the armpits

past the neighbors, so much coming through those windows
I want to ask how time’s

still passing. They answer with blows,
the remembering and reversal of dreams

I awaken bloody
scrawl their names on the walls