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