i am a prisoner in the world without end and
i suffer at the feet of this lovesick addiction,
crinkling into a pile of dry skin
in the palm of something lovely.
it's love of a mother, lover, sister, daughter, niece
in a million tiny pieces floating over my head
and appearing before me on this t.v. screen.
it's abandonment, forsaken and dead
underneath my feet.
i am a jailor in a world without end
and i worship at the feet
of something bitter tasting-
milky and gray
i'm drowning in the kitchen sink.
my toes will rise to the top-
grease and suds and sponges-
and i'll watch you melt into a bowl of domesticity.
you'll find a way through
the pipes in the walls
and escape to London or France or Amsterdam.
i flip through channels.
it'll be static
after snowy civilization.
These Channels Are No Longer Broadcasting.
the sink's all dried up.
i'm trying to find a rabbit hole to fall through here and
some descension back to earth.