You won't settle for a truth
that isn't hot & bright & silent.
They don't understand, but come
to understanding; brushing the wall
interwoven bodies, tangled tails,
and nose-twitchings.

We should find a heaven
and if it isn't, a city of brass
and if it isn't, leave it sitting,
straps and all; the rats can climb up
climb up and nibble at the crown.

There's savory in the skillet,
are you preserving it?

The world turns soft, too soft
for purchase. Secrets
of the afterworld in secondhand accounts.
They climb up and nibble at the crown.
Experiments for the lone philosopher:
clip the membrane that connects
learn by staring.

They don't understand, but swallow
understanding. They nibble at the crown,
watch for the map they make,
to lead you out of your mind. Down
to brass tacks, secret cellars, milk-
carton portraiture. Fascinated by you,
I become inhuman
to touch your inhumanity.