seventy-three silk worms

live on the peripheries

of my consciousness

i see them

encounter their stares

hundreds of silver eyes

their ravenous mouths

that keep me emaciated

in my own mind

long vertical ropes of thread

spiraling in molecular contortionisms

among my thoughts

there is an elasticity in their movements

their speech is laden with androgynous chic

they possess and exacting ambition

not to be kept alive by toxins

and look to their Dadaist progenitors

for encouragement in their silken tasks

seventy-three silk worms

who find affirmative properties

in the rebirth of my brain cells