Four Misdeeds Overlong

My clone is four misdeeds overlong—
Always in the shade and up on a bet.
A doppelgänger in northward transmission,
And passing tramlines full of misapprehension
And stickleback roe.

Then, about 30 sedatives in,
Its vision fades to black and my own
Blazes refulgent, then backwater again.
A sable southern ruse is framed
In Pasolini’s heavenly iPad.
A processed retraction emerges
From the spacesuit audio: more rhythmic,
More foregrounded, in spare northern
Quarter notes and given an improvisatory
Pussyfoot in aural abandon.

I abandon all hope
Of compositional interlocution.

The doppelgänger supplants me …

Now it seems Tokyo has no defense.

What I’m Reading:

“I realized today that I will die
with work unfinished, and someone
will have to find it. I am determined
to be alone, so who knows who
will have to sift through it all—fragments
of pages of nothing”

— Carmen Maria Machado / “Meat Eater No. 5”