Myxedema

For what it’s worth

I was always impressionable

in matters of the kinds of thoughts

that develop in the space between the iris

and the brain.

Somewhere between the inside of my eyelid,

right under where the eyelashes attach,

and where all the dendrites spark—

I’m flabbergasting women

all over the world with my inventions.

Dilation is concentrated catastrophe.

The result of too much

adoration, and obsession

of the mind that lives in the picturesque.

Seeing a coffee pot

and projecting the coffee pot

onto the lines of plot

criss crossing throughout the next several months

are the same in my authenticity.

All the reasons I’ve concocted

for my empty bed,

and the weight of heavy eyes

upon my tensing muscles,

pushing down onto my eardrums

hissing out one by one

in fits of hilarious solitude.

A fine example for those

who hate their empty brains

and wish they could be alone.