Poem

Poem


When you are lost, do not think of me
for I do not exist. Perhaps once
there was a semblance, what we regrettably
call a ‘likeness,’
but this has long since left,
and all you know of me
is an image long passed.

I have turned over to a realm of nothing,
simply by closing my eyes once too many times.

When you are needing, think not of me
for I am not here. And besides
loneliness is just
an illusion we show ourselves
when we are too bored
by our individual nothings.

We turn over to a realm of objects,
awash in a shallow stream of antiworlds.

We go spinning through this constructed silence.