Wikipedia Poem, No. 815
The blood red light slick on my sky binds skin to skull. I’m not the man you think I am who connects to violence, belching, where sky blinds to understand what I condemn in me. What I connect to skin, to violence, I loved first on the internet. I can’t have known New Jersey before I owned this wretched skull. I’m not the one who connects to violets. Where? There: Where mandible connects to skull. I’m not one for drama. I have no loudness, no spark. I have no loudness for drama. I have no profit for dreams. I am no lout, no prophet. I have sugar sparks for teeth. I split the atom.