It

worse          
is that I tip toed              
over the line              
and felt it              
             
same as              
what rattled through          
the tossed bones              
of countless              
other assholes              
who couldn't describe it              
             
but tried              
               
and fuck you              
if you think fame              
or god or              
love              
is a part of it              
               
it's success            
       
and fuck you              
if you think money's              
involved          
it's not           
               
       
       
I am stuck now, engaged in a memory              
of how it should be done              
so I can't hide behind              
the static observer          
can't deny          
it exists              
               
can't craft phrase well enough              
to pass off a fashion              
a taste a            
style            
           
so          
               
aesthetic had better wrap around the head of a bull              
with weak knees              
convinced it must run              
               
to make this look good              
               
               
               
I wish I had never felt it              
but that shelter                
has been blown to pieces