I was caged by the ink pen you left on your desk,
a pinprick ever so slightly touched to the skin.
Was the beast on the left side of my brain
just you, walking from one shadow to another?
Between the cracks in the pavement,
I saw your eyes staring back at me,
shards of glass,
another tragedy that gawks at me back in the mirror.
Isn’t it funny how sensitive nightlights
wink back at you as you walk on by,
and you- not giving a damn what she’s trying to tell you.
I feel so much today
that my hands weigh me down,
shaking to the ground,
another tower to climb over
as it tumbles down.
Mad hatter becomes me well,
in this lighting,
with the windows down
and the shades drawn in
to the scene around them.
I bleed tea and gin from overseas,
Kafka on his knees
begging for antenna
and holes to dig in.
Where do candle flames go
in the daytime?
To deep forests
where the dragons still dance,
and the moon bruises easily,
and the Holy Grail slumbers,
buried in the tomb of the Vampire King
who is just awakening.