how does one call the entrapment of ones self in a labyrinth without the intention of ever entering
much less intending to stop and trace your finger on the walls
when wandering aimlessly no longer reaches a dead end
when you scrape your knees begging for father time to stretch out the realms of the grandfather clock
when you study the art of the wristwatch just to tear it apart
when you spit on the grave of former loves taken before
when you etch into your skin words of lost poets
when you speak in simpler words for perplexity is at its finest
when you lie in your back and wonder when did the human species match up to the charts of stars
touched with the back of your hand when you saw nowhere else
how does it feel when you crush limb against limb
when you see the antiqued rise of the dust collected by the hold of sweet demise
how does one call a stargazer who has fallen deep in fascination with the view of the soul through the iris