Today Ends the Weak

Gnawing the bones worrying
the straggled morsels not
all my limb remains there
is some in the trap a
large American-style portion
proportionate to my investment.

When the dream careens Icarish
to earth becoming rain I look
to your imagined face for my
insurance a confidence game to
found a new house of glass for
throwing stones out of.

Shouting the shouting doesn't
stop and it's only when the
hoarseness grows that I realize
I purchased it with my own
flight to wombish staring
darkness hiding nothing.

Shame grows from adoration
when perspective is lost through
the spyglass even when the
secret is never told because
the telling can never be
honest enough to hold account.