I have fork-fed

my hungry eyes…

dilated and sated,

the tin·e pricks

left holes

from whence a

saline solution

drips

…

purging me

of retch·ed

tears.

 
Offended by lies,

I plucked all mine out

–as many as I could remember, anyway–

Swirl-swiffing webs that deceived, and

Chucking phony filters, and

Squaring all pyramids,

I shoe-blacked bits of white.
 
 
Going global, then, I pulled out rug, and

overpowered by the itch to truly feel the land beneath my piggies,

I crowbarred flooring, too,

stripping bed I’d made there, next

(as it no longer served)

but leaving dog slumbering at its foot well enough alone, since

my Pinocchio proboscis was hardly his fault, and

his bark was just so tiresome, and

when only the prerequisite pillow, and

sleeping mutt remained,

I pulled every last tooth I had

(disabling veneers)

to place these extractions under cushion at bed’s head

–whereon I now also lay–

whispering to the

down

all that was up,

I drifted in

&

bled out,

dreaming of

a Truth Fairy

and whether

she exists.

Thor has his hammer

Poseidon his trident

Eros his arrows

­–we need a God with a broom.

A really, really big broom.

Big enough to swipe away

the web spun round our world

–a mesh that traps

light and gravity, both.

Saber tooth

worries stalk me

circling my perimeter day after day

–kept at busy’s bay–

they attack from tusk to dawn

chewing up my insides,

and scoring through my outsides,

and second-guessing decides,

they pack with wild bore’s

–the kill of which

often renders them one and the same–

all the while

caveman cackling

maniacally from a distance

–disturbing chorus pitched particular to my frequency–

and though I gird myself

and guard myself,

and run myself

and from myself,

–all quest for safe haven

returns

–on silent pause–

to me.