across the desk dirtied
by silence and loud looks
perhaps to lift one's punctured head
up into the flames of the Sun
clouds are sticky notes
floating reminders of useless barriers
to which a dark hat
surrounding thoughts relentless
spinning until the gravity
brings them back to the center
of horror
those nightmares again
porcelain mountaintop
articles of holes dumping
forgotten mottos
known all too well and cut
into eyebrows painted
with self-consciousness
recognition of what is
over my head is up here
stop staring at my eyes
her our what is
over my head is up here
- Max Stoltenberg
