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Insane Membrane


They said I was quite pathologically unhinged
Waiting until some godly army of theirs would sweep
Brushstrokes through the cat-calling crowds
And carry forward the momentous nothingness

That is otherwise me, him into ancient Arkansas
Or some far, strange country of desert-blue skies
They said the fire of life played tricks and wagered
Self-belief at my expense, and that rancid water

Dripped from the brilliantly painted ceiling inside
My head. Long-dead cogs, I'm told, had rusted fast
Like the bent skeletons of some volcanic fate
Gaping-mouthed at the ashen joke of it all

And I was made to swallow so much archived carrion
To see the tentacles of a hundred misdiagnoses
In their faces rapt with the fear of not knowing
And that ceiling daubed thickly with institute white:

"You are not here, this is not you. You visit
The inside of your own skull like a murderess
On some unknown odyssey of ganglionic space
Taking with you a fragment of what is known as love"


© David Incoll 2001


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Copyright by David Incoll 2001