object permanence as a solipsist
moon vines snap shut, strawberry seeds fall from
the fruit. you take the penrose steps down to
wonderland, spiralling like a fracture,
circling the hamlet behind my eyes
on splintered clock-hands. time, interrupted.
a three-act play in an hour-long night.
your next scene has only the ghosts of words;
scores where pencil-marks should be– sentences
severed to syllables, doors where doorknobs
used to be. yet your hand still hovers on
a phantom handle; a muscle memory.
your potemkin village is flattened -
you chase rabbits in the blink of an eye
and shiver as i step over your grave.
19.04.2023
