Trigger Warning
There’s an alone so alone the mind starts to eat itself—
it begins with edges of memory gone like eroded beaches,
the clean solid wall fading between you and your dreams—
now the phantoms and the kid catchers run loose,
ripping up your garden. You’ve lost your public face!
Anyone other than the government would think you’ve gone
out of your mind—babbling out loud, thinking without cover.
Mirrors are assassins. The stove wants to sing.
These aren’t my cats pawing at the windows, eyes making clear
what they’ll do if they get in. You’ll just have to imagine
the psychic sandbags I’ve stacked at every door,
the dwindling provisions, the escape pod on the roof
I climb into when the firefighters bashed through the walls.