When I was a child I chose
the characters I would play.
I was a blue coat soldier,
I was a tear stained Cherokee,
I was a white haired General
in the White House deaf to rage.
As I grew older a slow gravity
began to pull me into one
dense concentricity of self.
More and more I became less and less,
fewer characters remained on stage
until I became a one man show,
a monolog, soliloquy.
In this way I became a singularity.
In an old prison-break movie
an inmate constructed a replica of his head
out of paper and paint to fake his missing
body when he’s gone.
My head staged on a pillow
unlived versions of myself,
unlived scenes from my life
drift through the limelight.
At night I escape singularity.