I'm a composite sketch for my own
Missing person.
My icons escape me
When I decipher their encrypted scheme
Map the inner labyrinth
I'll discover these scribbling notes
These paintings, these sculptures
My funerary objects

For what economy am I now bent?
To what toil
Do these aged fingers dither?
This realm of idle purpose
Our eternal stories cloned
In endless savage sport
Give spasms to this
Dreamless corpse.
I am life feed me within
All things beyond
Perception.