The Man Who Drank the Multiverse
The walls crumbled like creatine sandcastles
I drank your dimensions like curtains to a vacuum
Every last one of you, fur around my lips
Cemeteries sprout through my capillaries
Six billion unattended funerals gleam in my eyes
Sleep apnea is me short-changing death
like the secrets you stash in a wax museum, echoing
The figures emerge through turnstiles
singing your sins in the streets
with shackles around their ankles
and a vendetta to end you
I run naked through the void
stamping ashen-white footprints
like I dipped my feet in an urn
testing the waters, tempting death
I pound glory holes in the abyss
with the swell of my fists,
black holes hungry for machinery like
the mouths of billionaires, politicians
insert themselves between the teeth—
What’s new? Who cares?
Where I’m going is a mystery solved by
the great detective of James Patterson’s
abortion-in-progress—
all the great detectives of time
have intimacy issues
Now in dreams I’m naked
My skeleton tagged in graffiti as the Metro of my veins
The zephyrs blow over me
forming the open fist of the zodiac
My lashes will never accept the loss of skin
Myopia will never miss the meteor shower it never saw
standing stargaze on the hood of a shawl
Swallower of the sun the moon
the stardust the suffering
polishing the chrome
on my millennium alone
as sailboats lie dormant
in the sea of my blood
