by Kevin Higgins

after Spartacus Mills

Back when I was over earnest and small

I’d scoff that a postmodernist

is someone who thinks the sentence:

“Next time I go to America

I will get there by standing

on the tallest building in Paris

and flapping my arms, like wings.”

as valid as any other.

Now I’m at the top of the Eiffel Tower myself,

composing an eight part tweet

about how I just this morning realised

down is the new up,

getting smashed five nil by Rochdale midweek

the new victory,

being scraped off the pavement

by a manic regiment of stainless steel forks

the new self-realisation,

being found floating

at the bottom of the Thames Estuary

the new Mount Olympus.

The person who now inhabits

what remains of my body

is the love-child I had with myself

sometime in the late nineties

when I was bored

and it was hard

and all taking so long.