Glass Junkie
An eye,
on tiny glass crutches
I slouch,
a sack of darkness
in the too bright morning.
All dilation,
all blank void,
a pupil
pushing out of the convulsed womb,
I suck in geometries of light,
the circus artery
in my frontal lobes
throbs,
hemorrhaging,
the fractal chameleons
off the shelf
in my head
contort
into equations,
glyphs
plotting their strange attractors
like harlequin
acrobats
turning somersaults.
I’m a junkie, lucky that my jones is made
right here at home,
little windowpanes of dopamine
afloat in the bathtub skull—
Lucky for me,
the hopeful monster,
Grendel Angelus,
an eye
on tiny glass crutches
a sack of darkness in the too bright world,
Which ever way I slouch
I’m on the road
to Bethlehem.
