(no subject)

[proximoception]

Why are we always rummaging
In some or another part of us?
Awaiting a day there might come a ching
Chacking us back out of artifice?
Curled in black stockings of in-toes
Nudging up narrows of knee
Leaning on eyelenses like they're just windows
Mucking about in mere Me.

Always the answer's to answer it I
I talling longers of mores bigs bests yous
I the one currency saying will buy
I the one one in this tumult of twos
I for the I-beam that scaffolds all spaces
I for the island where land's landing lies
I the one idol no dullness erases
I where the world's what leans in on my eyes.

They sometimes see me walking
Up some numbered street.
Strutting like some doll-king
Light on firm fat feet.
Sometimes hear me eating
Hamburgers and beans.
Master of the meeting,
Summoner of scenes.