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Percy Wells


Berlin, Germany

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An Effort to Exist


Percy Wells

such harsh winds beyond the door --
that old wooden woman,
who sleeps standing up
and cries when you touch her.

it's so hot in my head.
the corpse of kinetic strength
tumbles down my skin
in tiny pearls that feel like bugs,
vermin that i attempt to shoo
in a fleeting frantic panic
(of course in vain).

then i remember, it's all in my head.

but so is everything.
and if that which is does not matter,
then nothing matters.
and life and my whole world
my whole being as a human
may be disregarded.

yet i sit here quietly,
writing the wrong
in my own blood,
feeling how i fade away
as the ink dries up
with the candle flame
into the darkness of the room
and we all become each other
and we who were nothing as individuals
are now nothing together.