There's not so much an alter ego
as an alter id in me, unconscious drives
of monstrous size, slumbering benignly,
but just look at them! Gigantic limbs,
velvet pelts stretched rippling
over strangely bulking musculature
- huge grasping hands, long ivory claws
obscured by heads as hideous
as adorable, with furrowed
peaceful brows adream, no doubt
dismembering everything - one day
they'll snort, and stir, for sure.
And rise and wrench apart their
paper chains, and claim
my armature and sinews tendons
blood and brain, by stages
rise behind my eyes, look finally out
upon this field
of action, ripe to undecide
and undo everything that's
real.
But soon enough, they'll see
the sense
of these arrangements I have made.
And settle in - not deference,
but affirmation
of how this is played.
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