I Am When I

terrified of becoming booted out of this
room for reasons I can’t foreshadow
in precision but ruminate upon the ceiling of

time as something outside of the hands of
what these palms can muster, sweat-enough-type-of
thing-the-boss-remembers as

what greatness equals for the type of statue I
am when I recall the pillar of the letter’s shape in the eyes
of men, and this will adhere exact and

precise as the alphabet is what it is in the alphabet it
is, and this keeps us nice and tight within the bounds of
reality, electric, water, garbage, gas, and probably a few others

standing around and examining from a distance, and it
wouldn’t be personal, an ejection of a random non-existent parachute
within the conventional reaches of the talon-loving master-mind

hidden behind the computations of peep-holes, I
swear I’m trying—and so far have survived multitude of breaking
and the mast on this ship and her crew desire the vowels

of discovery for anew and are not afraid for storms to arrive
but will attempt at all might to muster enough strength to continually stay
afloat within this god-provided paradigm—but

if in the course of human events it becomes transparently self-apparent—
the room, will have to abandon concern of its deflation, and accept the honor
of a neglected balloon, and you know what—

that’s okay because tomorrow is tomorrow, and boot-strap shaking-skeletons—
there’s no indication anyone is pulling any type of plug around here, it’s just—
if we’re not on our twinkle-toes by early-morn we’ll all be

dead

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