so many of me that it’s weightless
and awful
to go deeper and only more
and more of me
palaces carved out of billions of years
of ice formation
and only me
and gold leaf
the generator that powers 30 kilometre trips, only powers up by manual cranking. and i fall asleep from exhaustion
each time.
to be seen by oneself is death here.
run through by a thing propelling me back towards me.
and there’s little else to look at.
perhaps the inlay on the dining ware and the chandelier.
perhaps a metal airlock breaking gap.
perhaps the movement in the dark. uncopied. dancer’s poise melting away
visage wax becomes something more disconcerting and yet comforting in difference. groucho sees chico in the mirror.
eyes crushed by my own fingers not mine.
and so who at the end is this other? non-me who suddenly i should care for.
that lay behind it all. revealed as a ghost of some thing i never saw.
i don’t know. and the shadow play was just shadow play. and now the ice is melted
and the ship is gone.
GlitchOut 