i.
I’ve been building a cloth palace,
Spires of soft linens,
Halls of spun silk.
ii.
I’ve been grinding my teeth,
A million years of evolution,
Unraveling in the face of a human urge to be otherwise.
Pray for Damocles,
Horsehair is a tenuous path to walk,
Betwixt silver iron and mercurial hold,
Unlike bowtip and grip.
iii.
It’s taken almost two and a half decades to jerryrig,
A makeshift Icarus.
Shoddy wings and rickety frame,
Careening towards the sun again,
Some thermonuclear mothflame and it’s ever-eager subject.