It begins again,
early in your breathing—
as the light cuts in at 4 A.M.
You are envious of the ants
all along the ceiling,
because they come and go
as they want.
You lay there unable to move,
frozen in the darkness,
frozen in the window blinds
stabbing across your body sticky splinters
until you feel your toes curl in
like cowards beneath the blanket.
Still unable to move,
you remain envious of the ants
all along the ceiling,
because they take what they want
and then they go.
You are not free to go,
You with impossible obligations to maintain,
impossible relationships to repair.
Last night, you made love like a tiger cub—
licking tenderly for any small sustenance
the killer has left.
And now, you have nothing but the stare,
which would be static
except for the purposeful ants.
You close your eyes,
but still see them,
white on black now,
taking from you all that you will never miss.
And even if you did,
you could not take them back
because you are still unable to move.
So you might as well open your eyes now
and come open to the truth.
The ants are taking you away,
piece by piece.
You are envious of the ants
because they appreciate the parts of you
than you or the killer ever appreciated your whole.
Soon, all that will be left of you is your head.
The ants will not take that,
because they want you to remain envious.
The ants come and go as they want,
but your field of vision will stay the same—
staring up at them,
taking you away,
because you are still unable to move
and after all,
now you are just a head.

narrative poem written on 06-27-2010 by: on mattkane.com
view image of poem


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