Confabulation 09.09.2009 Poem by Margaret Alice

I ate breakfast, she lamented
and therewith put an end to all
my objectives, no more ideals
for today, just hanging on by
the skin of my teeth

Why did I do the dastardly deed
of eating foodstuffs when I full well
know that my stomach cannot di-
gest anything, my head always
becomes so confused

Without a confabulation of magical
stories and plays, a phantasmagorical
conflagration or two, I cannot rise out
of existential meaninglessness -
a fatal blow

To my almost non-existent self-image
only black circles remain…