01-06-2025
How to Open a Hole
I don't know how the beetles got in. Landed like plums rolling off a cloud, soft erasers inside their mouths, my dreams were first to go. Siphoned out via bullet holes, like honeybees
smoked out their hive, chorus of black lines, burned thick and dark, gilded grill marks, hexagon honey stuck to their eyes, there are six sides to loneliness. Ballistic blowfly,
visions of parallel lives, you hide, what you hold. Blind to the brilliance, I died with my eyes at an angle to my skull. Said I'd be right back. Nevermore. Mounds of dirt, oh ants,
no one I love, should find me here. Never had I felt the hardened wings of sudden flight, mid-run, door turned cold-angled cliff. Duck-duck,
goose. Pluck a hole in the circle's skin. Black rip in a bag. This is where memories turn corners. Finger tucked around a crescent moon, light splits and splices the room, disconnects the dots, casts a constellation onto sheetrock.
Article originally published at The Atlantic
