THE DISTORTION FIELD 

I.

is it the distortion field 

bending the will

sustaining this black flame

of surface functionality 

I lie down so often now

with everything

unfinished

II.

even though most of this

is an apparition

your frame is so broken

it requires a partition

take a guess and make an incision 

small birds don’t bother with permission 

III.

there are moments

when I can see through 

the occlusions of this plain 

it hums

it emanates

all without variance

latently sickening me 

in my defence 

at best I can summon

a horse 

missing most of its skin 

IV.

I have played the game of death 

and at dusk a poisoner has appeared 

tomorrow I will start again 

I must be ready 

my vision blurs waiting for sleep to begin

the lull from the perniciousness of oxygen 

V.

my job is to work harder

faster, longer

interpret thought as talismans

monitor everything inside this building

connect and configure 

the key is interference 

letting everything occur

no longer asking

will my copy delete everything 

is it even mine 

dreamlessness means permission 

to dwell on non-sentience 

things impervious to illness

poison, injury 

to widen the discrepancy between mass and volume

VI.

a version of myself must be hunted down 

but I get confused 

who entered the gloom out of the most need 

how long have I taken 

to be prosaic

amidst the supernumerary

dissecting the shared strains 

the contamination to escape ratio

VII.

and mountains come into view

and this thrum I have repressed all my life  

kicks like an unborn child 

a long-established connection

readying for the age 

of earthquakes