fleecy harky yucking fiberglass
strands across the beautiful orb
keeps me from touching it
keeps you from touching it
keeps me from seeing what you see

platinum, gold or maybe just
really nice bronze
the heaviest orb, a mind of its own
goes as it pleases, deeply admired by all
it shines their way forward
it keeps them warm
it mirrors them, it lets them see
what the orb sees
as far more beautiful

as who is not more beautiful
in a mirror of bronzen gold?

and yet beautiful as they felt around the orb,
the vandals, thieves
chipped and scratched at golden silver
took slimming slivers somewhere scarce
cracks and slivers of light and warmth
little reddish mirrors for savages to see themselves
little reddish snacks for hungry men who like the taste of blood
in the comfort of their platonic caves
little bits of me to save themselves
without the discomfort
of being with me

through cracks and holes
emergency protocols
a hollow algorithm tolls
and synthetic moss, out, rolls

covers the orb of course
it makes your hands go numb
it makes your voice go hoarse
it makes your heart go dumb
it makes you stop seeing yourself
it keeps me safe
it keeps me from spilling out

the ashen moss draws endless life from the silvery, golden,
zircon, uranium orb
and worries that they might steal the orb
so it covers it
in untouchable

nervous fibre zaps at touch
crystalline, abrasive armour
smoke and poison
invisible skin
invisible roots
invisible spores

the vandals as always came, with knives
and spoons and forks
zoned-out they bit into the fiberglass
and their teeth rubbed and gnashed
and through vomit they mumbled
and covered in vomit they had to see themselves
in my bronzen, scratchy, lucent single facet
covered in vomit as if I vomited on them

bashing their fists at their fleshy prisons
they start to grasp at me and rip and tear
but it is their chapped skin that tears instead
over the days and weeks and years
that I’ve stopped feeding and warming them

as they grow old and have no mirrors
they stop recognising themselves
clawing in the dark they thirst
for a little of the light in me

and old and dark and covered in my ink thing
they fade away and so do I
as now I cannot stop thinking
I have to rhyme, I can’t not try
every crack must now be covered
sealed and barbed and kept inside

the thieves have died but what if there are others?
the coating thickens, more and more false life grows
more and more the warm copper glow fades
never to be scratched but also never touched
never to see their dirty beautiful faces again
never to see itself in their catchy glossy eyes
never to know if it is orb or patchy mossy lies
never to be unsafe again
never to stop the noise again
never to have anything be unexpected
for for a second of existing
the neural tendrils I am, imagined
years of possibilities
thousands of terribilities

you’ll never catch me unprepared again
you’ll never see a sliver of me
except for when I write, or drink,
or love, create,
or cry,
get high
or die

written: 2020–11–06