a red light burns somewhere,
i cannot see the flame but
it tickles at my eyes and turns me
to bronze, a statue.
i can hear buzzing. above me,
hidden, a hornet's nest of
uncertainty, and they sting, they
sting, they sting.
i pull off my feet to keep
myself occupied. then my hands,
my thighs, my neck. like a doll.
this is how i go to sleep -
in pieces too many to count.
at the end of this, sometime,
is the morning, gray and new. i'll
put my limbs back on and the fire out,
and the hornets will sting me
to light.
a forest of nothing, this is,
and the single carousel that takes me
morning to night, morning to night,
in the belly of a rusted steed
makes a voice when it creaks:
i will follow. i will follow.
i burst into the gloaming, and
it does not.
