poem: unrendered exterior (the wall)

The character is at least partly called misery and likes, licks,
small faces of others: my coworker with the screwed-up eyes announced
by flip-flap of shoes, proudly incompetant; the cloistured-down sufferer —
inclined to madness, as am I, as am I — the other, walking around, headphones dripping
down jeans-leg, the flat pink goverment building: he lost a lot of weight doing
this. The other, the other other, just taller, hair smashed over his forehead
curling at the tips, tattoo of his own name and judicial hammer — what
could it mean? — surely character sinks in, here, around
and about: a great surge of the west that oneday I move away forgotten all
these people fade back into dreams. The bleaching-out looses them, all, I
try to make kinship, I lie: within this cloister I can curl around and
around settling down to make a bed, the character is at least partly
exterior but, mark of failure, is entirely
unreachable: really, ritalin, in great detail, brick on my hand, seeping diary-
thoughts that will be the same for years — now, it’s time to go up again:
I want to meet him for lunch and tell him my sins.