IN VOLUNTARY SEGREGATION 

All my overreactions

are reactions

against the age of overreaction.

I trickster,

I ballast,

I manifest.

I seek to say the unsayable,

like ‘palimpsest.’

Why even allow a word like that?

All my overreactions are reactions

against the age of overreaction.

I trickster,

I manifest.

In lieu of saying the unsayable,

I ‘F’ the ineffable, am left,

to contemplate the curse of ‘Jeff’.

Jeff!

Jeff as a first name.

Jeff? Say it until the curse is yours

to understand. Jeff.

All my overreactions are reactions against the age of overreaction.

I seek this solitude to nourish

the insanity. I master

the act of self-neglect, I perfect

the art of placing forward nothing

but the worst of all possible feet, overreacting,

ad infinituum,

in hope of counteracting

the age of overreaction.

In ballast,

in painful and all-too finite

jest, i know

i go profane in the wee hours,

the wine bottle

on the floor beside my foot,

my worst possible foot.

the images of the consequences

revolt me.

Let’s talk revolution.