Creating the total dome has become a way of life
and still I work
no room or need for revision
black ring on pinky finger
psoriasis-thick scalp under Norwegian felt cap
plaster guitar-hand
green polish flaked on bitten nails
psoriasis-body
back like sunburn
legs + arms like poison ivy
poisoned ivy poison
but the organ that stares stares at itself
time is gone
my face
puffy black circles
I adjust the tilt of my head, my head
30 degrees forward, my face
an upside-down avocado pit
the corners of the stern but relaxed mouth almost meet its edges
my enormous beak
flattened into a Lennon long
it smells fish
(there are always fish-dirty dishes in the sink)
the lamp is above the mirror
shadowed areas are completely black
my head-hair is a dead octopus
deceased
rigor mortis
sparkling with salt
sick houseplant
hanging over the dark eyes
the dark eyes rest on the dark circles
staring
it is the eyes
time is gone
Rasputin Tom Baker
irises partially eclipsed
by the wise and wrinkled brow
darkly penetrating
the eyes are a mirror
hollow and glazed
a mirror in a mirror
the Droste effect
vibrating against the mirrors
the mirror in the mirror
the pain of my diseased head has created the total dome
It slopes down over my shoulders and touches the floor
a bullet shell
I sneer at my fangs
