This isn't real

This isn't real

I'm not real

how can I be real

when I can't even feel

I'm not hot or cold

I'm not there or now

I'm not in or out

imitation in drought

enduring visitation to Fetisheavan

halfway to limbo

did I make it

no forgot to go

forget where I'm going

ice set in gold ring

in shambles my igloo

The past is real

The past is real
people don't endure
physical objects
the bruises' bleeding pulp
stain on slab of concrete
which has garnered a hit
this is wounded objects
something terrible something
other than is violently happening
inside you coming to know
that time is truth
flesh does not abstain
from doing-away-with.  The spirit
has turtle shells like or as cicada
emergent I who ain't shit
turn to dust
feeding mite-lust.