maroon and recur;

Nothing can hurt me today,

I’m reminding myself, desperately.

I’ll do this again & again if I have to,

like pulling teeth out of light sockets

with a spoon and fork; arguing with

aggregates of emotion about,

­

for example,

that I don’t belong happy, I need a drink,

and that I should maybe actually eat breakfast today.

“Watch out, a new planet right on my trail.”

Heard this and thought of the tailing and offerings of all

the well-wishers, and the tools of navigation not actively

being towed away by faulty eyesight toward the future.

­

A finger points at one of six mirrors,

where the reflection displays every

marooning and recurring,

back to what feels like the sole image of a man or a child

or both bound tightly together,

showing and not showing features

of how to properly hold a world together.