Poem: A Study in Priorities

Are you too

certain that

underneath the gelatinous muck is

a mass?

A solid stone to be

polished pristine — but

what if nothing

whole remains?

Security blankets stories

scaffold hallowed centers

and the optical illusion

of what was once known

is now

not.

Hours awake as

dawn scrapes

over the project buildings. I

burrow into confinement

for the

security of who.

The delusion

prevails.

Boomerang this angle and

Don’t forget my name.

The focus derailed

I, the I of I was never meant

for these fallacies.

Priorities remain:

crush the Pygmalion and

leave the statue but

her marble crumbles

leaving a

speckled floor

and nothing

but the idea

of more.