Circling the Blaze

Here’s a thing 
alive yet 
extraterrestrial 

in figure. 
Done otherwise 
from scratch 

in composition.
A parcel of 
endless what? 

The undomesticated 
descent – breakdown into
constituent fascisms.

Does it 
move 
or am I 

moving?
Is there even 
something 

to call “It?”
The less I look 
the better I see.

The less I see 
the better I look.
I’m sick,

banging my 
head and stomping 
my foot but just 

in my imagination.
A taut practice 
opposed 

to its own 
go-ahead.