self

i go into
a headless self

and it is how i might imagine madness
to be

and i gaze into the vacant
unfurnished head

speaking volumes in tongue

it does not have to make sense

the lop-sided moon
will be perfect for only a moment

already losing it's symmetry

i'm turning into things turning
into things

spy a rosary forever long
like pig entrails wrapped around my wrist

the proverbial self in the air
baring it's teeth

i'll never have to watch things die
if i kill them first...