Anytime but now.
Anywhere but here.
Give me the red soaked floor
of the coloseum.
A night at the palace
with a drunk Baudelaire.
A model
or Munch’s dying sister.
A muse of pure malice
or simple radiance.
Merilyn in thought
caught by Bresson.
The smoke of hashish
circling around Rumi.
Liv Ullman, biting
into a strand of hair.
An envoy from Mars,
or not even Greek,
or distant, stars.
Significance.
Instead of this.
This strap that I fasten
from my bony tights.
This painted wallpaper
that I peel
with my fingernails.
These lies, injected
so good-naturely
by my own TV.
I won’t ask for liberty,
or death, which is the same.
Change me into someone
with something.
Anyone but me.
jam10
