AFTERMATH
The INSIDE of a lonely man appears
different to each pair of eyes that see it.
One might penetrate a soul and find a lone field mouse
while another could puncture a peep-hole and see
a collection of concentric circles.
One could crawl inside of a lonely man and find
a winter so cruel and unforgiving that he
blinds your very being with
intrusions of lunacy.
THIS lonely man collects patterned baskets,
each with vague and opaque ophidian shapes.
His lungs are but a consolidation of
marcescent honey and
blooming mold
His heart an arcane devotion
to champagne
The eyes that looked upon these graveyard-like
innerworkings had but one query:
What could compel someone to be so set on inter-dimensional
self destruction?
(Spring/Winter 2016)
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