you'll never get it back, jack, don't you know?
live so long in a fog just to learn the ease in letting go
never could share, could you? with your cards so close
gripped it all with sharp nails just to find your palms empty
and bloodied with little red crescents
you didn't paint the world- it painted you
anomaly climbing up the canvas, strolling through the churches
cataloging misericords, and the people carved within them
drolling on and on about mercy and killing
and no one understands you beside the beetle you allowed inside your skull
I remember that day, jack, all your doors wide open and waiting like a venus fly trap
and the clumsy shielded insect wandered in where a person could've been
to make its nest there, raise its young there, burrow holes there, and stare
through the vast black nothingness in the very center of your eye
beetles and flies and silverfish
you gathered pesticide-kissed dandelions with which to play cardboard alchemist
yet the world will never look like it should, and you will always look where you shouldn't
not at but through and through and between and anomaly inhabits a body inhabited by other bodies
they told you the snake eats itself in service of eternity, you know the snake ate itself
because it was starving or because it was scared and even though you've long sat shivering
at the ledge of fear, you never could quite fit your feet into your mouth- and so it goes,
and so you go, up and down and around, marching with your shepherd's staff, misleading all the dust
and when you wake with bleary eyes and lookout
the world will no longer jive in constant movement, it will not flow together properly, your pants
will not fit, it will all be pretty or dull instead of beautiful and no one else will notice
and jack, I will watch you pretend not to care and fail
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