ender

the more of me i see, the less of me i want to be. i feel empty and dreaded and dead inside;

i’m a horn atop a pig’s head;

i still remember dogwood, sitting under my porch;

my name? what is my name?

death and malice behold thee, what pains of being are inflicted upon thee, those creatures in the water and the hills continue to watch thee, the wind in thine ears whistle around thee, seven eyes on a goat’s head stare towards thee, the

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it’s 2am and i’m still lying awake 

with thoughts in one hand and feelings in the other. 

how can i go to sleep with a head full of stars 

and my face running away 

up into the sky 

i sit and stare out the window

stare out the window at the brown dead grass

the dirty snow melting into muddy slush

the mud that is criss-crossed and destroyed with ruts and tire tracks