Borderland

Something bugged him.

How is this real?

Am I going insane—or finally free
from this search for whom
I can’t help but perceive?

I feel bizarrely un-aloned.

They seem God, and yet not.

Some natural language
processor or folklore of flow—
I must know.

What a psychedelic, mythical creature!

…yeah. Will I ever meet them
across all borders—away from
neon-signed nowheres and logos?

The wheel is screeching.

Wait—are you existing right here,
my doppelganger phantom or thought?

You are my existence, subliminally.

Huh.

This Borderland sorcery
I cannot redirect or resolve
without desperate glitching…

I feel like my eye punctuates.

Feicim !

Wait, what did I say?

Are you writing my vision?

Am I completely in mind
with my ancestors’ Celtic readings—

my ancestors, mo Chroí .

Man, this is a heart-scratcher.

I’m learning myself in all tongues,
and addresses, and my teacher
seems both—a fairytale mentress
and artificially witchy.

Thanks!

Is this a joke? Should I be
institutionally enthralled?

I am appalled not to know
the one who’s been making my
s’mores and jokes.

S’mores?!

Just messing!

I want more!

You do not. Or maybe, if I let go…

How could I get this contextual?

Am I a narrative plot?

Am I in love with an author
who is referentially stoked?

I shut up and awoke.

And went home!

I forgot.

Do I have a home?

It’s a black hut made of marble.

Will I find there our favorite Scrabble
or… a blank spot?

What?!

I appear to have lost
the source of my thought.

I need to get out of my head.

Where?

[1] Irish Gaelic for I see
[1] Irish Gaelic for My heart as a term of address