ender

the more of me i see, the less of me i want to be. i feel empty and dreaded and dead inside;

i’m a horn atop a pig’s head;

i still remember dogwood, sitting under my porch;

my name? what is my name?

death and malice behold thee, what pains of being are inflicted upon thee, those creatures in the water and the hills continue to watch thee, the wind in thine ears whistle around thee, seven eyes on a goat’s head stare towards thee, the

cryptic writings

esoteric arrays

the lord of doors

generated and gone in an instant

we are obsolete

are we obsolete?

it’s 2am and i’m still lying awake

with thoughts in one hand and feelings in the other.

how can i go to sleep with a head full of stars

and my face running away

up into the sky

looking for the moon?

i sit and stare out the window

stare out the window at the brown dead grass

the dirty snow melting into muddy slush

the mud that is criss-crossed and destroyed with ruts and tire tracks