A Theory of Mind

 

How dare you think I’m you!
After all I’ve done
to make it clear
that to appear
with all your filaments askew
the only possible prognosis
is catastrophe.

You’ll never last

with me.
But there you squat, you blot –
you vast assortment of insidious
proclivities aligned with hell –
imagining that you’ve
the barest chance to dwell

in my vicinity

in all your lurid lunacy
with cavalier impunity –
you dirty word
made flesh,
you flesh made lie!
Well, just you try.









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