VII. mitosis
i...
i love him
and i will pay with fire and brimstone
maybe i’ll realize
that the plot arc of my life
doesn’t really make any sense anymore
that i don’t know where i’m going
(i never really did)
and i’m falling i’m ******* falling
the potter's wheel lays in disuse
the clay has cracked
much like ourselves
crazed in the heat of our crucible
the teacups are but shards
and no golden lacquer remains
to mend, to smooth sharp edges
we cherish things until
we can replace them
"fragile, handle with care"
i didn’t test in an inconspicuous spot
i didn’t reset to factory default
i didn’t come assembled
but i didn’t come broken either
we were dealt the cards before
we even knew we were players
and i cry for innocence had,
and innocence lost
innocence misplaced,
and innocence taken
my nightmares lathered
in sterile surgeon cyan
after all, we lobotomized machines
could never feel
what pleasures lie,
in those frosty windowed wards!
arched backs, bucked hips
gossamer cauls of flesh unwillingly broken
bulimic hearts, skinny love
i need not drink but the viscous
milken nectar of our lust
what pleasure, achilles!
what pleasure?
what pleasure is there in
the supplication of sutured flesh?
iphigenia, astynome...briseis—
flesh blemished, removed, replaced
housing haunted souls
heracles, phaethon, oedipus, icarus...
are we too consigned to eternal song,
that bitter deathless death,
like our tragic forbearers?
our glory, our hamartia
lies only in our love, philtatos
when wisdom brings no profit
to be wise is to suffer
the proud will be humbled
and the humble will be exalted
quell your arrogance
mitotic spindle
my name means glory to the father
and i am the prodigal son
all is equal in the chaotic omniscience
of mitosis, of death, of entropy, of war
we? we are indivisible.