Stalker

Stalker

Stalker

The light so thick nothing’s visible, cognoscenti
I knew them, stupid apes. Real apes know more
Before we said apes. I know how to be you bet-
ter – a stupid voice. You must find a mind
to respect – why? There was someone with ear
buds, speaking gibberish who wouldn’t
stop walking beside me; freckle-spattered. I
had to ask the métro attendant for help;
she extricated him from me . . . I respect his chaotic
speech, mild adhesive force because it makes no sense.
I am back on the alley, discovering adults are un-
trustworthy: someone’s lying . . . about a
fight between a teenage girl and boy – he pushed
her hard – first she badly scratched him, she’s worse, his
mother says. I’m back at pre-beginning, I don’t
want to go through that again. There is no
sexuality in chaos, there’s no style, nor
hope. I want style – apes have style, people
have machines. Show me something to respect
This bleuet growing out of a wall on rue d’Hauteville.
I picked it and pressed it in a diary. Every once
in a while I respect a moment. I am back at
pre-beginning: I don’t want to care beyond
this . . . sudden hue in the sand, yellow or spotted with an
hallucinated iridescence. The one who is
stalking me . . . there has often been someone stalk-
ing me. My destiny. He’s gone, stay here
in this, I can’t be harmed if I’m the only one who’s
thought of being here. Aren’t you lonely? I don’t know.