I am heard:
Unspoken.
I arrive in light of rumor,
To a crowd of post-inquisitive eyes asking:
“Are you Him?”
I refute, refuse, rebel,
But my shadow before me has distributed the rubric,
The True measure of my words, translating:
“I am, I was and tomorrow I shall be.”
The He who is now me, alive without life,
Twists the nether into a boggartous form,
Projected from my listless shell.
The crowdfunded cries for justice bear down like an insult to Atlas:
Catching me unawares by the time-change.
With fear for the self I leave behind,
I dissipate;
Returning to the ambiguity that swaddles the moon to subsist but not exist,
Feeding off a truth known and un-Known;
A quiet stasis.
Post-Neology 