the hall of mirrors#

idle in independence
my nowis a selfish one
lynchpin of my ownfrayed plot
in these great hallsi’m drawn in by glint
metalbreastplatejewel-wing stained glass
behind this great doori’m removed from life-
giving soils& the all-knowingbranch
i can’t really sayout loudhow i feel
beheadedat the sightof a little dog
with cataractsin each eyefrosted past
the embersacred to remember

the cabinet#

i can’t be alone enough
midst the dried mayfly
keeping spiders company
or the dolls who wail
heavily awake
each antique
laid stiff as rhubarb
parts of ourselves
begin to disappear
value misplaced
on the opal eyes
of my figurine
rekindled
somewhere
spell-less

the auditorium#

i hardly feel mein this great roomin that great roomof creature ornamentspresented fragmentshands & feetlined up like cruciferselliptical as the palazzo del bograce & greenscrocodile dragon toadold & new worldswound & woundmy bodymy mindmy realismmawkishmagenta as a radishat the cartographyof dead or alive palmistrymy teeth growlonger than any rabbit’sat the thought of stayingin this brassica bed