I stepped into the mirror
and found a man on the other side
and I was still waiting for the other horse
to come into view as
I tossed and turned, faking ambivalence,
heads will roll to center stage.
I felt the liquor and
serpentine ooze through my veins,
getting stuck at the twists and turns,
I dripped clairvoyance and arithmetic.
Take the coins to the collector,
tithe for a reason
I cant quite figure out.
I do not know what to do with the powerhouse.
They always turn the martyr into a collectible,
another porcelain mask to hang on the wall
next to the family vacation pictures.
It was more than that
and my shadow
could’ve told you
but she has gone,
pretending to care about the next
the printing press,
taboos and the designer
crystal ball, fuck it.