I keep falling off the world

I keep falling off the world
when I stand still just to look around
I loose nose, ears and smile to the windows
I pass
during the day

the perfect society demands
perfect indifference so I use 
the streets like I take the subway
I wait, get on and hold on 
to a leather strap

and I worry
does the one who is dying has to die today
or tomorrow?

You're asleep, spread across the bed
so you can always turn to the middle
to see me

you're a vulture who's smelling
my decaying flesh
you're watching me die
much to your delight

Corn


Sometimes I train my disillusions like they're big
mad dogs. Preferably in high cornfields,

so much rustling that your disillusions seem
to walk straight out of your head, right in front of you
I call for them in all their painful detail
(Bring back! Come here!)
and let them:

Go! Sit! Lay down!

After which I lay myself between the the stems and
the broken off cobs, wondering which thoughts I
would put in place of the disappointments if

everything had gone my way: probably none.
How suffocating! Like erasing rooms from
the house you grew up in, including the

the ones you used to enter  for
no apparent reason.