DESTRUCTION /

Something I put in my hand, I make my own
portioned disease, medicine proportionate to ease

when the doses are too low, I am anchored to pit
when the doses are too high, I am overstepping all gods

I am the wavering seesaw in the celestial wind
where I am, is equal to where I’ve always been

all that lies between is a hole of Time
I fall in & the hole shatters into tiny pieces of butterfly

wings, like glass & legs, like metal twine
eyes rolling like the back moons of passing tides

& the hole closes with me untethered
to any ancient pulse or future hour.


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