unworshipped

i fell asleep in the driveway last night, fell asleep on my worn gravel mind. 

the world screams louder at night when it thinks no one is around to hear it. three rabbits in dying summer thrush, cold skin of rubber stretched sky, told me she was wearing herself thin with all this beauty she gives us. uncountable pale stars thrown across the chasm of night, in my dreams i reach out and rearrange them. there is not much meaning in their fatigued decadence, not in the waking world. twilight swam in my bloodstream, told me how to dream, and i let it drunkenly puppeteer me, lap at the edges of my mind.

i awoke a character, a falsity. an unstable tower of lies once told and lives once lived, the windows open in my chest letting in a shuddering snowfall. and if the world falls apart tonight, will i fall with it? would i let myself? i am not the kind cut out for poetic calamities, the dramatic undoing of things. if i fall there will be nothing to say of it but shattered glass and crumbling cement. i will be what the weeds adore on abandoned street corners. i am only loved by the things that fester in secret. there is nothing pious about the temple of my body. no one prays here. on sunday nights i slow dance with silence; she’ll leave herself in my throat, be all i can say for days. only the records twirl in this stupefied slush of room. only the stars dance above the veil of ceiling.

i am a map of all of the things that have ever clung to me, and still i lead nowhere. still i am lost when i drive at night. i am better off unexamined, unexplained, unworshipped. i am better off without this light shone on me. turn it all off, and quickly. you don’t want to see more of this.