Out here the sky begins its syringe thing.
My albumen skull riding the horizon: a pendulum for an explanation.
Disused arms that flag and wither.
I came out too early and now it’s too late.
Are you getting the metaphor?
Thrust up through floorboards to shiver a mistake
I am constrained to make again and again.
Are you getting the metaphor?
This pale hood shrouds a black anvil
my neck, never off an unseen block,
couldn’t hope to dangle.
Are you getting the metaphor?
I came out too early and now it’s too late.
Are you getting the metaphor?
I’ve never flinched at the snap of a stick.
At the rumble of rhinos I throw a yoga pose
and prickle for swift oblivion.
Are you getting the metaphor?
I am nobody’s business anymore:
a mangled spine that greens no summer.
I prod myself as cattle.