Escher

A brick falls from the apex of the ceiling
your head detained / accepts a dull thud
derailed on route to radio static smeckling
oil paints across pale cheeks raises the color
floored sculptures like you are art for the blind
braille bound upon hardwood contingence
conveyer belts that only drift you
from winded soul into the space between
wet walls with every out stretched hand
only farther still / away from me / never more

dark spots fade to closed eye visuals
embossed and delaying sumi-e ink runs these
golden limbs rush down the spiral staircase
cement tiles twist / flicker in a flash
a rain of things betwixt this scientist
breaks the sky beams into focused light
which pulls at my heart strings ashed
as thumbed hash screens describes the diagnosis
the lamps that lit my progress are destined
to set the hay ablaze visible from
the widest points of the paths I made
to embers glow against our bones
a single hair between my lips
you are prostrate / and already dead
I was just trying
to build you a home