my hands are spades for splitting wood 
and trim Hades' hair, doused out as it ought to
choked out in the night , face torn down
into a restful ease
stillness yet unmatched
like a broken watch 

my legs are belt buckles: tourniquets
tight switches for the imaginative lights
synapses firing across an ionic storm
so it can be funnelled into a trench
mindlessly cut by my feet 
thoughtlessly consuming time
nibbling holes thru life 

my ribs are a labyrinth 
barely slapped up like shanty towns
corrugated tin with sharpened edges
septic corners , ageless concrete pillars
monoliths to failure, crumbled and marched over
before a simple, frantic man could hope to rebuild 
you could always navigate me so easily 
and have always been welcome here 
but the construction is compulsive 

My eyes are a jousting lance 
living in a face where the blows can glance 
running , rolling to the back of my head
praying, kneeling , hoping that 
they stop finding 
they stop looking
for the seams in everything good in the world.
prodding and pulling, fraying and unravelling 
doubting and travelling 
and finding the biggest, hardest pills 
to bring to my breakfast in bed. 

joy slays
love saves 
but it's hard when you can see the seams.