Cabin Fever

Subject me to Cabin Fever.

A moth flamed makes the dream

Perk up Victorian with stained glass bones

For haptic architecture, home of a broken seam

I weave for fun-

Through the Brutalist core, personae

Dipped in castanet wax drip off my crescent afterimage:

You dance like a guttersnipe hammering spiked cleats

Into a nuclear world, praying it bends around your protean skin.

You pirouette fancy Wrights

From the other end of a sewage LED pipe,

Litter polemic pebbles through dirty puns and thumb swipes

Fondling Stussy veils over jacked up scribes.

Your Danse Macabre puppets the court alive

With mismatched heartstrings,

To fuel a world that never requites.

Your dream mirrors its Doppelgänger flesh,

Struts bricks and pennies down nostalgia's reign

Until the mortar bleeds through the posture

Like a canary who beaks his spoken chains.

The absence of time swirls metaphors on vision.

To love you where it’s warranted, but no more.

In the confines of my emotions,

I am always paid what I'm owed.