King of Repetition

Marc Jaffee (2004)

I am none but king of repetition.
I am none but a soldier with naught but a mission.
I am the hand with its fingers always touching REPEAT—
I am the winding street
I am the windy street.
I am none but king of repetition.

I am none but king of supposition—
I suppose, then, I must take a position.
I suppose I must await battle boldly,
and shun selfish pleading, turn away coldly,
then sway the finger, the hand—this mad persuasion.

I am none but king of repetition.

I am none but king of opposition.
I am none but a soldier, pale malnutrition:
I am the sickly stomach, and your lips and your eyes;
I am you lips and you eyes
and the things that arise.
I am none but king of repetition.

I am a liar with a folk song's heart.
I cannot start, and I cannot restart.
I am the finger and the foot and the following eye
which is present, which is prescient; a lie.
I am a liar, and lying my art.

I am none but king of composition—
composing a song, a lie, a mission.
I want to repeat
and I want to repeat
I am the winding street
and the winding street.
I am none but king of composition.