the earth
took a dare called ‘ spinning ‘
and wound up in your catastrophes
strapped to my everlasting retreat
by the heel of my approach
from a constant ache in the brain -
as stalwart as a legion
of blind corpuscles in the arm
of an errant worm.

or there’s beauty and poetry
bleeps it.
a symphony of solitary
narcoleptic rainbows
barking at your scars
with gossamer private
thoughts.
either you wail at the wall
or you mummenschanz
where you want.

or where you’re
Not.