Marionette

To be this
or that
some romantic folly
imaginary self
escaping

But what is
me

An addict of breathing
addicted to a turn about routine
an anchor of habits
a very sure thing

Or closed within a sepulcher
of me

To dreams aspiring
and Earth denying
each radiant of living
be brought to hollow
and conundrum anticipating 

Each facile fantasy
of me

Spruced up in a million hypothesis
some liquorice tart demented
black oil, black oil of possibilities
and still
but to carry a leaf upon a breeze

This dagger in the ribs
of me

All strewn about my feet
and in boredoms capitulation
endlessly
I lurch and blunder marionette
through day light

Once there were wings
attached to me 

The merry go round a merry go round
of me

Where was I ?

Oh yes
to be this
or that
some romantic folly
imaginary self
escaping

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