The Joy of Solipsism
By Nick Twemlow
Bring the oncoming train into focus.
Tell me your theory of the market.
Pupils dilate, trees fall,
I practice transference in my downtime.
Think of my mother watering
plants. Is
everybody really watching?
Blog me. Add to my Wiki entry.
Date me. Reply to my electronic flirt.
My mother told me she’d nominate
me for that award, if she could bear
the proxy. Show me your tits.
I shaved my balls. I took out
a second mortgage. Motherhood
frightens the elms, carves its sorry
initials into the sky’s prolapsed anus.
Each sadness passes through
me like a gallstone. My valve leaks
an amniotic canopy over the
bar I’m fragging. I’m a fragment,
a tender button. I saw my first
beetle in the periphery. Lake Shore
Drive against the ruins, the stain
of lake-effect snow a special effect,
the only weather
exhibiting any real affect.
Nick Twemlow, “The Joy of Solipsism” from Palm Trees. Copyright © 2012 by Nick Twemlow. Reprinted by permission of Nick Twemlow.
Source:
Palm Trees
(The Green Lantern Press, 2012)
