Miron Bialoszewski 'My Jacobean Fatigues'
Miron Bialoszewski 'My Jacobean Fatigues' stories
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My Jacobs of Tiredness Higher
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Miron Bialoszewski 'My Jacobean Fatigues'

by ________

My Jacobs of Tiredness

Higher

clarion calls of form,

habitations of touch,

all serenities of senses.

Lowest of all, I.

From my breast they grow

stairs of reality.

And I feel nothing.

Nothing of juiciness.

Nothing of colour.

Not only am I not

one of the Testament heroes

but worse than a flounder

glued to the bottom to die

with balloons of breath

bubbling up in bundles,

worse than a potato mother

who put forth

enormous antlers of tubes

and herself is shrinking

up to disappearance.

Strike me

construction of my world!

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