by Arran James

who am i
here
in this
yawning
interstice
to you?
impossible
to decipher
from
these fragmenting
glyphs
if this
is the pause
between
two acts
or the drawing
down
of the final
curtain.

i’m in executioner
gripping
the axe to my
own head
and i’ve
been reading
all about
role procedures
and how
to sit and watch
interiority
without naming
monsters monsterous
or angels angelic

i keep a reel
of live sex
footage
all spliced and cut
interminably
as by the
hours wandering
a lost pair
of shoes
sleeping silently
out into the
libraries

and confessions
make me sick
as i sit
concerned face
posed a rictus now
and forgetful
of the commonplace
in front of
television
amidst the company
of others
in their own
leaking little vessels
and stare
until i can’t see
or hear
or think.

who am i now
because
despite my flaws
and mistake
your perfect imperfection
you’re indelible
in heart and mind
a welcomed
invading army

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