Don't stare at the gaping darkness.
For too long.
Or you'll begin to see its face.
Never again will you see a thing.
That looks so young.
And seems so old.
You'll swear that her cerulean hair.
Is thrashing about.
Like upright snakes.
But when you focus.
They'll be as still as your sunken feet.
In the thick yellow mud.
Don't mind the sinking feeling.
As more and more of your body.
Descends into earth.
No matter how much you lose.
You'll never disappear.
Pay little or no attention.
To the tiny grizzly bears.
Skating on the mire below.
Their chants may sound important.
But when you listen to the words.
You'll hear something like:
What do we want?
Mayonnaise.
When do we want it?
Yesterday.
Look down.
And you'll see the corners of quilts.
Poking from the surface.
No matter the urge.
Don't pull them out.
They're done comforting others.
Their threaded roots.
Are busy digging.
To the world below.
Once they can grip a tree.
Or a sturdy ruin.
They'll pull themselves to freedom.
And fly.
With cloud nymphs dancing.
On their backs.
Look to the corpulent obelisks.
That circle you and wheeze.
As they teeter and move.
You'll only catch a word here.
A word there.
In a language you can't understand.
But you'll see these symbols again.
Written in a loved one's face.
The stones may shoot you.
But by the time the words.
Splat against you.
They'll have lost that effervescent glow.
You hoped would warm.
Your shivering skin.
When you sink.
Down to your shoulders.
The mice may shave your head.
And tattoo caricatures.
Of the aging obelisks.
On your newfound baldness.
All but one of the mice.
Are basically harmless.
However.
Chilp Tak Hardengrass.
Will crawl into your ear.
And fingerpaint on your brain.
And you'll learn more about.
Global economic systems.
Than you can stand.
When the bog finally takes you.
Smile.
You'll live.
Never again will you feel.
So happy.
To be rejected.

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