Wood leapt up and hit me
Between the eyes. I am the only one
Who sees. There is this feeling of
Dispossession, extenuation.
Things are shifting. A table,
Just now standing stiffly on my left,
Ran, when I turned my head,
To the other side. I know
How they trick me. The ceiling lights
Illuminate the whole unwelcome room.
The yellowy rays are making me fall.
I am cut into slices. Paper.
(1988)
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