by Matt Ronquillo
Like using the same preposition
too much to describe everything.
Fuck wasting time.
haunts itself relentlessly
with a dark between the beams
that looms inward perpetually,
that already went and ran inside
and side-wound around
my well intentioned output
with prior behavior in tow.
Now I’m keeping that stealthy hate of mind
split-stored in two suitcases
which study the back of my head from the floor.
The frontal lobe is either dead
or resurrected by this foreign window I am facing;
a potential prism
to try again to change a single strolling
strand of light into a stronger diffraction splaying back.