[from Sarah Manguso's Siste Viator, Four Way, 2006]
The Black Garden
The first thing I did was imagine a circle and get in it.
Outside the circle the world waited
With its dinner party and its hologram floor of moving stars.
Why is it called thus
The tourists asked the inhabitant.
Nothing grew or died there.
And they could not see where the circle ended and began.
I am the only one who can see it.
I am a lonely albino, I pour dark tea down my gullet
All day long just so they can see me.
Today I woke up, juggled, made a few notes,
And became symbolically suicidal.
My juggling-balls are shaped like stars.
Where are you if not outside the enclosure?
Only figments live inside.
I am colorless and cold. I am my own figment.
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