Manic Rambling in Spoons 2

Him there—across from me—with the depth and the pint
(It is always ourselves):
I should pull his ontology from under him with my anti-realism.
If only I had something to hold on to though.
But I don’t want humour and hyphens, if I can help it.
I’d prefer
(For the poetry, of course):
Soft cupid;
Doves and Fairy Liquid adverts.

I don’t truly care for metaphysics either.
That means “nothing” to me.
(That’s the closest I’ve got to that!
Decent.)

Not a single point—that’s what it feels,
Looks,
Reads like if you stop chewing the fat:
Get the memories out the body.
While I’m at “it” (nothing, I know—yes:
See!),
I need to get the top and the bottom together
(No ontology but hierarchy; all transie-);
Formalised madness, but it’s just
Feeling.
Try it:
He just so simply says to me.
I’m nowhere near it, but there’s something in it itself—
I’m only getting a coffee.
(This might be the closest
(—Furthest—)
Someone can go; I could do with more
Italics, brackets—consciousness-identifiers —really.)
Honestly, someone just walked out a shop,
Stepped blindly into my pave,
And I bet she has to write nothing.
Think nothing.
Must be bliss for her:
Lovely new nails:
No judgement.
I’m anti-realing her now though, too—
Be gone!
O auto-correct:
Be fine?
I wish.
Clever mind, though, channelling it out like this.
Nowt to do with me.
If anything
I have to get out the way.

So will I go through this and then be,
What is it,
Reorganised—
Reintegrated—
In some way afterwards?
Will I then be able to
Poetisize
Myself, my words, my world,
Correctly?
(Not sure why these ones have shoulder chips.)

(Bold font! Great!
I hadn’t thought of that.
For what it’s worth, I’m just getting it out here.
It says nothing about me—what exists, what we know,
How to live.
It makes me more amiable at the bar, that’s all.
I hope you hear the different voices, too.
Maybe talk to a freak in the street more now?
The communication helps—brings things back together,
Else you get this.)

Completely inaccessible?
Like what,
The reason you don’t like it?
(And it ain’t no academic reason, I’m telling ya.
If only.)
It’s no craft this then, no,
I agree O so very deeply and emptily.
More a spaceship.