_Fear & Swans Itch_ [ 6 ] by John Lowther


These words itch, like soldiers infesting an apartment block

Walking through walls floors ceilings to pose with cell phone.

Phones homes. I dreams I painted this in a story I won't read

Tomorrow before the phone rings and Swans chase the doors

& inevitable flights of stairs. Es sind keine Schwäne da. There are places

I can't itch. It remembers me having scratched but that may

Have been drug induced. The fun is in the lighting which is

Why you sometimes want another before the last one is

Finished. Painted minds. Patient mimes in a minefield of

Abstractions, twitching in their tights. Taut as the horizon

With fuzzy lines. There is no pointillism here to speak of.

Itch is the oversoul we the fleas in the circus, swans

I think in my delusion and then the twist - you saw it for miles

- I am the one doing it, making it happen, back behind it all.

Great Scott you say quite realistically. Push buttons

Impossibility over

Incompetence and

Impotence demands we play cut throat.

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