Sweet, lucid juices drip from these serrated edges
all the lights have gone out and curtains drawn
who knows what is going on inside?
A melon ball of diplomacy
patterns digging inward
turning that high powered insight inside
on itself, silence
lambs
peering out from inside it's like staying
in a cell, dog's plaintiff echoes incite violence
in this tin can,
eyes that take pieces of people with them
homunculus bandages of clay for the sick man
alchemical alteration of self, bodily makeup,
perhaps a heavier concealer-
holes crop up on the surface of goosebump plumped flesh
hairs rise to the chilling presence with dew fresh on the peaks
like grass in the idyllic morning, sweaty from anxious anticipation
shivering pale beneath, with fever wherever the gaze lands
in a suit of armor, naked before the examination of telescopic pupils
studious at the altar of presence, something to behold
invert the reflection and make the world right
let the mirror swallow whole what you don't see looking back
fill in the gaps of being human by taking the traits away from observation
that trapped inside this social sensory deprivation standing torture chamber
the iron man or maiden has come to lack.