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.