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Lead-Lined Loop
At best I did deserve it;
as best it called my name.
With two long legs I shambled
across the rift that it had made.
With the two long arms I reached for
the warmth that it had promised.
Then the it had turned to she.
She was all the more hypnotic than it.
My stumbling and shuffling
had turned to a blind sprint,
and the layers that made me sweat
came peeling off by inches.
Lead was the lining of my head,
wires crossed along my neck,
my thoughts gave off a putrid stench
and little seems to change.
Little seems to come from motion
forward, backward or up above.
Little seems to result from much.
