66

[dreams of reason]

The owl is strung
across a parody of night.
My darker self with claw marks
cowers /
Little Mouse,

you will gnaw through appearances.

The tendons of the sky will snap.
The eye will swim
across the crude oil of each synapse.
Slick and mercy scum

against the surfaces of knowledge.

/ /

Once a body was the puppet of its good.

The hand, a glove
necessity shoved into, shook
each finger into finger.

/ /

[I was worn
by skin

& my ambition / once removed.]