
The worst-tempered people I’ve ever met were people who knew they were wrong.
–Wilson Mizner
I chased myself
In circles, ragged
Eyes hanging so sad
Heavy
Searching, seeking
Some invisiblity
Some nonexistence
Some thing
Oh lonesome fool
I was
And one flesh, I became you
Joining in the party of pity
Hanging itself to death each night
Lay me down to sleep
Silence, sing of sorrows
Bringing lullabies
Be them borrowed
I have mastered the art
Of screaming
Without sound
How can this man I half became
Be still too deaf, too dull
To carry
And what of me
Of belief, of wedding
Nevermore, nevermind
Axes buried
And I, the madman’s trophy
Am now
No more than nothing
But once upon a time