I think —

I have long ago died

Wearing my favourite tie and a gallant smile

I stole away behind the curtains

Quietly, in the middle of the hour

I think —

I have long ago lost it

My head, my heart

My stoic forbearance

My methodical grace

To the fervent pursuit of an untethered kite

To the frenzied obsessions of a clockwork animal

At the feverish midday sun I wondered

Now perennials overrun my head

And I speak in mangled rhymes

Quietly, in the middle of the hour

I think —

I have long ago snapped

Like a cello string — that proud, tenuous thing!

The viscera of a lamb, bleached, wrung, polished, and frayed

Born in the warmth of an abattoir

And died at the peak of a crescendo

Like a wine glass under golden chandeliers I fractured

Closer than ever to the fluid steps of a hundred waltzing bodies

I bled into the rich velvet floor

Quietly, in the middle of the hour

I think —

I have long ago fallen asleep

As I drowned

I must have dreamt of surfacing

I must have opened my mouth

Not to scream but to breathe

In that dream I was drenched to the marrow

Drinking from the downpour, lips to the sky

And in that dream I was laughing

And in that dream I was dancing

Yes —

I must have died

Quietly, in the middle of the hour