I’m found almost daily in suckled depths of nothing, noting nothing interesting but
a 2 headed coin, some headless stamps, migraines, a dry half-spilled cigarette. Though I now quit
3 times a week I keep looking for a way back in, so where am I exactly?
Nanoassed corrections like a clotted strike from an antique plate,
re-conditioned and intending to betray, or at least obscure, a posted rate.
Tiny accounts of wildly useless travels, entire visits unkept by memory or missive, only an erratum of Bedlam’s short orders, briefly skimmed
and impaled on a memo spike. Fractured and fairly
fairy-tale in disaggregate space, in soothing disregard.
Ignotum per ignotius. Once more the Amazing Head-Swallowing Ass has the night off, but he is always on call. Like us, the genuine predates the fake by scant hours, and no matter how you turn the goddamned thing, the head is always upside down.