i’ve painted all of it
on the ceiling of the library dome in alexandria
to study the profane scope
better understanding the history
the higher i ascend
through falling ashes
this is what i know
my interpretation of the pattern
you only acknowledge the sacred
as you seek to destroy it
you’re sick
pathological
oh
how
you take such pride in your trophies
heads mounted on the wall
all wearing your mother’s pearls
the manner in which your
opossum eyes delight
in fresh kill
wax romantic about your bloody left hand
as you arrange dead flowers
i’m impervious ever since
you gouged out my ability
to experience pathos