147. I, Quincompoix

photo in a photobooth photo
in a photoBooth photo in a
photobooth booth in a photo
photo in a photoBooth photo

harleQuin of squares and
colors of squares of faces in
a square of harleQuince
dull sweet fruit of dull eyes

or I’m imagining a magical
harleQuincunx of a set of
photos of the faces of those
facing the little blank black

I’m imagininGin a set of five
five faces like the right flat
five face of a die and I see
the little harleQuintuplets

wide fat rough linen tie of
harleQuinine design across
the flat white neck and what
blood or breath could it stop?

but [and I hear and say the t
more than the b] but I sit
here and collect [the sound of
the t and] these bits of photos

I collect these bits of rejects
torn and droPped to the floor
rubbed into the dirt like dirt
into the eyes and I squint

and sometimes I sit behind
the curtain to take a photo
of myself to take mySelf
away from myself myself

and sometimes I stand on
the stool crouching and say
“I, Quincompoix, yes, I am
happy, for I, Quincompoix”

even though I cannot find
these people torn in two
these peoPle torn in four
these people torn in five

and even though I cannot
find these people who have
torn their beauTiful faces
apart I am happy SisyPhus

my kingDom is small but
I can push it up or down
my noStrum is void but I
can swallow it like a song

handful of pictures as a
scrapPed of a life and I look
at them all day trying to
find the people within them

my little dirty rough handful
of scraps of a bunch of photos
of such beautiful peoPle in
grey and white and I look

I look at all these people torn
in two someThings else and I
see the two things they are
and I see the two things I am

little old lady in a baby carriage
comes at me like a runAway
traIIIIIIIIIIn and I tell her herself
that she should leave me alone

little old lady who won’t take a
picture of her little old lady face
comes at me and says “O why
do you pout with a snout like yours?”

she says “why do you pout and
where is your picture if you like
all your pictures so much?” and
I say to her soft and then loud

“I, Quincompoix, I, Quincompoix,
can’t complain, I’ve got pictures
of people I never will know, I’ve
found faces to love if I want,

“I am QuinComPoix, and I cannot
comPlain, for someOne will love
me for what I don’t know, for some
dark-haired woman will find me

“for some dark-haired woman will
find me and make me her own
and we will have pictures, we will
have pictures of those we don’t know”