the future is a monster
made of taffy in my belly
she laughs at the stretching
muscle memory

her ants crawl out of my tissues
between the muscles
through  the fibers
until i cannot recognize
my bellybutton
my abdomen
my middle of the road

time birthed her mold
from an inverted riptide
without a navel
made of rust like polyps
and chandelier bones
she is growing and unfinished
there is no queen ant to ****
only uncertainty
stuck beneath blood
and over the hill

but if you can put the beast to rest
ease her mind enough to dream
to think of only impossibility
maybe a sugarcoated future
will only be a stomach pain