Chapter for Being Transformed into Myself

Waiting for Morpheus?
The sheep in the pen
Have vanished. Poof!–
Along with your clock

Last night I slept not a wink
In the old well of Joseph
Where the pinks
And their hunting dogs bleed

Meanwhile, Lucifer’s heart beats
Inside a can of sardines
From Dactyl to Spondee

Well that’s what it feels like
So far after the end
Of Marathon

2

Like Forest Gump I keep running.
The crowd is wildly not entertained.

I catch one of their tomatoes, scream
‘Thank you!–you’re far too rotten,

You’re far too kind!–’
Drinking from its paste.

It is to maintain my full-retard pace
And (clippetty-clop!–what a show!)

I’m just breaking in
to rhythm into gait.