INVISIBLE MAN

 Poetry Potluck--With Real Toads

d'Verse Poets Pub

It was getting harder to detect my image

in the mirror 
as anything recognizably human.
I wasn't disappearing, 
exactly. 
It had been years since the last attack.
Making matters worse, 
I came back here to write this--
and forced him to drive 
to whereabouts unknown.


Do you remember the car wreck scene?
I went kind of nuts
and took a baseball bat
to every mailbox on that road.


I still do not have a clue as to what my mission is.


But it was a good thing
I wore what I did.
He thinks I'm the bad guy. 
But I am merely part of the process.


To wit: 
We were sitting around one evening after tea
cutting the air with farts and exotic bird calls
when suddenly it hit me
that each of us is going to get his nut
in his own way
no matter should aunt Gertie disapprove--
right, my little droogies?  


The next day I waylaid  myself over the head 
with a hammer.
How do you think it happened?
I spend a lot of time online...
do the math, dipshit.


One of the nurses banged
on the door. 
They ran about a million tests. 
You don't want to know. 
And then, people started falling,
And then...nothing.


You're fine. 
Drink some water.
I  transported myself back to that summer.
I'd  stood against the back, 
right by the exit.
I'm putting an end to this, I said.
I smelled the smoke. 
I thought it was romantic
in a demented sort of way.


You know about The Game, don't you?


Catch me if you can.