Awareness of the Space, Apparently

…As if it’s in the middle of a meditation in the middle of a poem.
Can’t just be looking around the room for it anymore:
My bike of thought is too sharp. We need rhythm.
And they won’t read it how I wrote it. Slightly removed is better,
But what isn’t? No—that’s too sharp of a word to use: I won’t.
This all sounds too much though—the next and the next and the next.
But how will they know to say it like that school visitor?
And this is your problem: it’s completely inaccessible.
You flirt with this obtuseness and madness choosing to say it… how?
What? She reduced to, she? They reduced to they. It flies past;
And what is grabbed at: the middle of an “ayyyy”? Nearly halfway down now—
There’s rhymes: you’re so predictable (I’m watching this abuse,
Don’t worry). The arrogance he just smiled at me too: it makes reality all silly.
And you know what’s coming now, like, a sort of a twinge
Of a needle in the big right toe, which is now below the heel.
And—after studying it much—what’s there? All that graft graft
Grafting with your pen. Honestly? Really. It’s completely inaccessible,
And you cannot hide by repeating it again, or by diverting into bars.
And I walked past one bar; and I- (I’m not there yet, so I’ve just deleted it.
It’s not even interesting). I’m nothing to do with this. Ask him—are you?
(No.) Maybe I’ve started something. I need to do one about stage, performance
And anti-realism but I won’t. (That’s too sharp. Best to…) Doesn’t make sense
To bracket a speech interruption now though, does it. But if he’d had
The bottle he’d have kept that to one line. Inconsistent formatting
Per voice, too. O and if she knew what they’d…