is it the nightmare or the
           dream—or, possibly
the in-between—of it all?

the dog’s bark or the
           silencing of such
that makes you crazy
           or shuts you up?

the feeling & meaning
           seeping beneath the lines—
the light in the attic
           or the carriage house
           of the rotting mansion?

the shout from the past
           from back in the day
saying: “hey! the shadow
           needn’t lay that long!”?

the backseat scoreboard
           or the contemplation
           of every situation
that manufactures mirrors
           in odd gutters & obscure
           pathways, leading to
the thick bog of
           preternatural prayer?

the history of the
mystery trapped inside
           your double helical
           faith, or the
face of the watch
you cannot bear
           to see? (no time
to look) (nowhere to be)

how engrossed you are in
           nightly routines or
           supernatural phenomena,
your upstairs neighbor on
your porch with a Blahdamned
           bazooka, pointed at the stars?

existential crises averted
           by the sway of
           her sunlit thighs,
geysers masked as
                      swimming pools, or
the off-tune humming of the
           greatest rhapsodic melodies,
           cyclical & reoccurring through all
song, present prior to the imperishable
                      click of time & everlasting long after
                      its storied, celebrated end?

a heedless steedless
           merry-go-round, or
the center of the sunburnt
           cinder block,
           harder than concrete
yet lighter than air?

the heart, the head, the body—
           the infinite et cetera buried
           at the core of all fictions, yet
constantly howling down each
           of your ear canals with staggering
           force & impeccable accuracy,
shattering your cochlea to bits like a
frag grenade—your BB-sized aural
                      snail shell-shaped miracle mechanism
blasted to shrapnel—
           embedded in your
           temporal bone & braincase,
retained for the remainder of your
corporeal existence—as long
                      as it
                      at times
                      seems—a somatic souvenir
           for the rest of your
                                 mortal lifetime—as short
                                                       as it
                                                       indeed
                                                       is?

…no, no—it’s none
                      of this,

but, it’s a process
of elimination, you
                      see?

[this is but only a starter kit]

now, please, do you
have a light? would
you be so kind as
to lend it to me?

this is my last smoke.

           [When
           the moon’s
           on a
           milk carton,
           you join
           the search
           party or
           turn up
           missing—

           when the
           moon is
           full, you
           settle down
           & listen up.]