Don't be afraid to
come into the backroom.
Part the curtain first
if you think you need a peek,
but honey, I've been waiting
here with all the answers.
You'll see.

What do you seek from this trans-trash
patch of bleached grass? Underneath,
infinite versions of me/my design holes,
tunnels in mud searching for sunshine.
But I want to ask you, who claims the noose?
Who gets to rise past the others in the end,
but then gets the knife so as to start again?
All ants, all ants, pull all but two legs loose,
and you're dancing in pants, wearing the tune
of the long, last living human in blues.