Errorudite by Confusician

under a sudden sun he squinted,
brows scrunched, and frowned. cursing
all to hell & letting headphones sing him
simple lies, he slipped & missed a step
& stumbled on the sidewalk —
he fell fist-first & found a fingerfull
of phlegm from a filthy surgeon’s facemask.

[he sat up & explored his state.]
“goddamn,” he groaned, “goddamn, I trampled on
[he quickly investigated the contents of his radius.]
the guts of a trashcan, on these tissues & tampons
& papertowel tubes & teenbeat periodicals...

[interjecting, he mused.]
(I wish I wrote for one,
so I could write reviews & read the news
& put my issues in their issues — )

oh, what is this damning blame I take up like a hobby
[he lifted his arms up, long]
when I simply slam my stupid body
down upon my achey, lazy hand?

at least I reft a quick twist & just missed landing on my wrist.”
[he rubbed his hands & hung his head down.]

the sky, then, was all sleepy, silent shifting:
the creeping, clacking, corpulescent clouds,
like drifting vapor rafts, sent sliding through
wide spans of rough trade winds & updrafts,
full of harrowed holes, thick mist half shot-through
by birds & planes & Supermans —

the sudden sun had gone somewhere,
shunked behind a tight-shut screen of bland
grey waiting-water, surly sometime-soonish rain —

& when he went to stand
he shuddered, sensing a thematic
narrative development approaching —

but his claymade-self kept up a daily yen for crud,
& his dropout doormat frame,
whenevermore seeing fuzzy clumps & streaks of sky-steam,
forthwith felt itself supinely splitting, sinking, quitting;

& it nonetheless chose for him his dilapidated dream —

sometime later, slumbering, he sleepwalked outdoors,
onto the dewy lawn of foggy smells & cricket sounds,
& from there he sought out the youngish clerk at the all-night store
to see if he could trade in his old Pain and get a new one.

confusician is a mysterious sideproject ... !