I=x

Because "I do not exist."
Strands of starlight lengthen and brighten
within my guts,
within my inner most masculine I.

Because I am busy "not existing,"
my word machine rumbles, devours the sky,
 gums me giggling into an early grave
, and i like it.

Because these lines have more balls than i do
the wobbly, wobbly, clickity clack
of polysyllabic monsters lumbering
over my consciousness,
are feeding me the ugly bludgeoned bits
of my own dismembered pride.

Her barefoot words are
skipping up my spine now,

and I will not even lift a figurative finger
to make her stop.

Because I am featureless
as the morning fog that blots
out your neighbor's windshield.

Because I am the gap of silence
left when all your
children leave.

Because I am only a rumor
running maniacal,
flipping all of the light switches
on in your brain.