Confessions of a splinter at an ant-like end

yesterday I forgot about you
crawling though the house
wearing splinters like lost dens
there was a picture we captured
it was hiding in our repressed faces
now drawn to the stealth and ant-like end

bold as chambering Saint Elouise
frightening for the forgotten children
where douses of comrade trouble
leaves skin in its calibrated time

now checks for reason rain doubt
where elevators are stock incisors
switched on the memory broken lanes
just stealth like a piano in the fridge

where smoke goes over the ride
the fairest daring heroine
that couldn’t wait to meet you
festers crickled arousal

like a california chain
on a ruttering magnified ball
the treacle feathering mopping hats
staking claims of lap-loose channels
for the Luke’s of St. Christopher,
lying dying in the morning