Self-Portrait in Three Parts

1.
We turn the fan outwards to funnel the smoke.
We watch it sift through the blades, above the fire
Escape. Up the stairs, the roof. Painted silver
It gleams like wet stone under the no-sun.

The girls lie there anyway with their eyes closed
On wide red towels, not sleeping.

2.
I have no identity, and you cannot disagree.
Your vision of me is only one version
Of self I’ve had the pleasure of pretending to be.

The me I am alone is still not one with itself.
The hand clapping, etc, all of that, nonsense indivisible.

When it is clear that the voices inside the head
Are only those that my mind has chosen
Then I will learn how to talk with strangers.

3.
When the sweat has already gone inside the skull
The condensation will kill the flies that sleep there.

Wet thoughts lead to bad dreams. That is what they say
when you come to them with bad dreams.
Wring out the rag where the thought was born,
Wring out the rag with both hands, and hard.

If you can find the rag, lay it out
On a piece of hot rock
And let the cloth evaporate.
Let the lizards play in the fluff that remains.