All These Open Doors

Have to banish it from my mind
So what if they do things
I thought I'd do

I play a game
It's called tongue tale trickery
I sell myself a story
Say it over
And again
Until my mind forgets
It is quick to

Quills write back
Against the nerves
With their sharp nails
To re-mind me
This is what happens
When you screw up everything
I mean, when I do

You were merely the instrument
Two flutes and a lute
My symphony for a sycophant
So that I could know failure
Heights, of which I am afraid
Exist only to fall from

The problem is that
I see so much more
Without using eyes
That I feel I should
Crumple everything into my fist
Myself into my fist
Restart the universe
To see how it plays out this time
If I can make the sand fall properly
To create quiet dunes
Beyond the sandstorm

I think
And here they are
In the room

I fall still