Magnetic Tape

still bating the same old hooks, rusted through--routine routine--too stubborn to admit dilapidation, sorrowed state of obsolete mechanics, these gears only move one way.   hear the click click switch on switch back off and on again, recording, devoid of imagination, you're no different than a strip of magnetic tape.

i want statues, headlines, rhymeless verse, off-key tunes, blurry pictures, smears of paint and ink, procreate a world of shattered pieces from a brittle identity, small and frail, stacking stacking, match the corners, witness one fragment at a time--contract an analysis, thematic, allegorical, symbolic--i want someone to explain myself to me.

a double vision, simultaneous panorama of myself in reflections viewing the surface but filtering through inner-identity complexes picking through compliments and insults weighing judging joy at one feature despair at another identity through mine your their mirror eyes point aim slip subjective perspectives all at once but separate gossamer line-ups which is false which is true--i cannot see my self anymore.

i shake hands i smile, i think i'm supposed to cry, No there there i've rehearsed this comfort, memorized the words and gestures secret signs cryptic speech i know all your lines--sequence/parody is a necessity--you're no better than a strip of magnetic tape.