I am on my own.
A single dead fish
Floating on a pool
As thick as blood and
As tense as kettle-drum
Skin.
We are all images
Of the same reality.
But in reality,
There is no such thing.
A distant fading of fact to
An unlucky fallen fly
In the jelly mix.
I have myself for company.
The futile dialogue.
The pointless discussion.
We seem to come to the
Same conclusions. We are
Great mates - volumes in common.
My skull is my prison bars
Ivory and pale and holding back
The breakout by the ties of
Post-Enlightenment nonsense.
White noise screams in my ears
Like Houdini.
Alex Sigston
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/dead-fish/
