Tear drops, popcorn, kidney peas,

red ants collectively navigating

through a complex quarry,

a fable of sequins,

or say like the child

with knotted limbs

who couldn’t make it

till dawn break.

Is it vitriolic?

Not like the toothache that barges in

when we are mid-flight into our dirty deeds,

but like the cramps

on arcane purple mornings

when you are buried in deep sleep.

Will they appear again?

You mean like the hairs

on my bald terrain?

Theory says yes

like uneasy questions

searching for meaning

I hope this time they are photogenic.