I used to be Display – but now
I am a Crucible where every day
I melt my Being till it’s irreducible.
All I had before was bling. I wore
a regal ring designed to show I was
the king of what I was the king of.
I could play and fight and write
and sing: I wore diplomas for my
shirts and diapers: lashes wiped
my window eyes, sweeping clean
each surface of each pupil to regard
my shiny world in duple. But now
I've lost my every scruple – that is
to say, I can't recall whatever way
I thought I had to navigate the day.
Now my selves take turns relaxing
on their shelves and leave
whatever’s left of me to be and do.
What does it do? Sits on its ass
and dreams of what it next can
effortlessly count on to amass.