After Monomania

- and you will walk through my unlocked doorway
(which I will have ripped off its hinges,
having expected this intrusion) and find me
with my head in my hands (only this time
it is literal because there are only so many
figures of speech a girl can take before
she loses all sense of poetic irony); you will
stand still, decorating my doorway like tinsel
at Christmas or streamers two days after
my birthday, and perhaps your limbs will
stiffen with the exertion of self-control,
but I will not notice because my eyes (glass
and red wires and marbled imperfection, like
I was carved from centuries-old stone) will be
focused not on you or your naked joints clapping
together in the dusty draft, but on the stained
twilight (and stardust that lies just beyond) -