Etched Facets Along The Strasse

I faced away from the window

but the blinds were projected onto

the inside of my glasses

trying to make a spectacle out of

AM nothings

sunlight filters in, a dance

I’ve long since grown

used to

as it shines in a pirouette circle upon a carcass

we called it a feast

but it was a extermination

of a pest in my bed

wearing my skin

I once went outside to discover

that changelings were the new vogue

Bodies along for the ride

while our eyes read the story

of a nativity in which the infant DOW

was hallowed, wrapped in streamers of Nasdaq,

and endless marquee of wealth, lined in the thread blood

of our veins

I sit on my patio, drinking my share of imported blood mocha,

and wonder how does one’s skin always return it’s shape,

with so much writhing always undoing its attempts to reform into self

as the beast that longs for more tries to always remodel it’s design

waiting to see

if you could at least

somehow bargain to get your eyes back

in the divorce proceedings.