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I HATE THE ARTIST

‘I sit, thoughtless, stoned
a crippled hypocrite
my own needs and wants
subdues, perhaps,
subsumed by the water
a helpless, lagging grasp
elongating hours
away from minutes
into the infinite
displayed,
the inept transmission
of words and feelings
I’ve lost my hearing
and the visions, too
fade, scaring everyone
that’s playing it straight
my misplaced witness,
staring forward
while looking back to
rival distracting negatives’