i have
constructed
so many walls
my brain is
a minature winchester house
filled with dead end hallways
to confuse
the evil spirits
seeking to take control
of the cathedral
heavy with wildflower petals
a blizzard in
hues of pearlescent pinks
i string red thread
in a convolution of
tangled skeins
and i fear that perhaps
i am one of the evil spirits
if so
who is the true architect
of this misfortune
and is he lost
in this labyrinthian hell
or did he
kill himself
long, long ago

there is still
a pervasive humming
i no longer can tell
if it is real
or just the pressure
trying to escape
deconstructing
my failures
to form the slapshod masonry
of this cretan prison
a half wit daedalus
entangled in red ropes
self kinbaku
with no emotional consent
building walls
instead of exits
choosing to remain lost
a djinn in a clay pot
unable to touch
the ever drifting petals
only catching glimpses
from afar