No Beyond

I pass by worlds
and don't need to bother
abandoning them to periphery;
they simply don't exist, their sole residents--
the withered, the bird smeller, the squatting
masturbator, the slow-motion vomitress
extruding a lake and its rivulets of enzyme--
are unable to reflect enough light
through the window-wall I filter with intentions
to enter my eye.

I pass.

Beyond the rows of words,
are empty margins.
Beyond the page--
invisibility.



by jerry gordon
5.5.10