Eviscerated by the paws
of my uncertainty,
I follow the evolutionary paths
falling into my good graces,
and allow tears to stain
the silks beneath my feet.

Corrupted with insanity—
desperate for eradication and
survival—
I confuse myself with a hay bail maze
and get lost among the
melodies of birds.

Butterflies may crush your
elephantine ego one day,
and then the world will spin,
sparkle,
spring,
into a new line of desires
and a few hours’ sleep.

Diverted by the humming passion
of the Ave Maria,
I stumble headfirst into
your undying battle, and strike
desperately here and there, trying to see myself
as others do.

Mistakes,
consequences,
fortune and
the total collapse of my psychic powers,
combine to make me
the weakest of us all,
and conspire to bring me
to my knees with the stained glass
poetry of our mothers’ mothers.

But today I make amends,
I wash my blackened toes
and scrape the gold flecks
from my burned
and dried out skin.

Magic exists, in a world where nothing
is beautiful and everyone
believes they are right.

I cannot be wrong here, for if there is
one thing I will die from,
it is lack of imagination.