Endors Toi

Sunrise, inflate, difficult to behave
like a proper totem with gem-cut
eyes soldered to you. My father

gave me Medusa lips, my mother
gave me talons trying to balance

movement with permanent tripwires–
given more time, we want to keep
connecting our stars, but if Kafka

can turn a man into a roach… or
was it the other way around? Hands?
Paraglossa? Does it make any

difference? Destination is the same
written conclusion: we’re all insects
with too many senses to feel with,

not feel enough, over-driven with
no control, cast away… You can blame
it on me… I just hate when his wings leave.


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