The Truth of Old Man Joe

I could tell you a thousand lies. I could tell you a thousand truths. There is no difference. I could tell you I threw the pills out the window. To test the trajectory. I could tell you I pulled the wires because I don’t want you to see my heart. There is no line to say. No alarm to signal. That I am not the body which lies in front of you. I am nothing. No sound. No mark. I have been walking for a thousand years but haven’t moved an inch. I believe what I let you see. I exist between the green. Adapting. I can be anything you want. I prostitute my body and mind for the penny that opens the door. It is more than disappearance. More than nothing. More than absence. More than ever and ever. I am old man Joe. I live in old man Joe’s toilet. I will never leave. The smell of ammonia and dirt in my hair will never move my feet. I already walk in a thousand dreams. I glide in a world you cannot touch or measure. Rip from me. The blood red is in my hand and I lick it up like milk. I am wedged sleeping dreaming cradled in these tiles savouring the smell of every morning disappeared.