pottered mud spun, dizzy and high with how fingers find and lie

                                                  

 

 mad and weathered tides drag Pandoran limbs

the seeds I scatter
only matter that they're
yoked to the serpentine path
I take to the Sun
fecking with weeds
a weave stitching me inside all
the flowers I steal time with
and stretch
in the dust and seams
along each fabric
patched part
of my well-worn life,
between need and bleed,
a tweed perhaps,
with leather elbows
scratching the smooth
surface of me
with a three-part insanity
I see my own vanity
mirrored and folded in
with all my original sin
burning me to remember
why I keep embers
to fill what spills in
the thin and thinning holes
my soul turns in and in,
a nautilus who can't swim
I am wearing myself,
always wearing myself
to what chains me, ghosted
to right before I could
ever, ever start to begin...