16 (Loop)

In the ragged stretch of time between the
after and before shots,
in the bleak beyond the night where
the Sandman waits,
there’s no sleep for you
until you find the brick that tripped you,

you stumbled along the road
and lost yourself,
you were mugged, your soul
roofied, violated,
you discovered the stench
and the flavor of perfidy

when you turned away, left for the
city to observe this new version of you,
you were straight off the
assembly line, fresh from quality control and
sold right back to yourself

a fully refurbished model determined
to come back undone,
disrepaired

the road in reverse is the road that first
was forward, now twice blind and treacherous

but don’t think too hard
on behatted silhouettes tending dead
harvests along the way,
solitary swaying stalks of ebony grain,
ancient bones creaking in the field

focus on the crumbling road
back to your undoing,
lest you trip and lose yourself a
second time, getting too much better
to ever find your fucked up
Self again

Poem by Shane Douglas Keene

READ THE SERIAL NOVEL BY JOSH MALERMAN