what am I
to carry these insides
that tread in the wrong places

I feel this

After the first wake
of devotion.

Any spark
burns bright then dims.

Each me
is the shadow
of one anothers
ascetic.

We still try
coagulating the unknown known,
and your close drippy beam
destroys me.

All ripe is rotten
actualization
through a feigned gaze.