In One of These, I Am Your Enemy

An infinite loop of forking roads in which they who Draw the map trace the roads most travelled As possibility is not a given in blood It is bestowed upon or wrenched from grasps. A stylus which punctures the notion of presence A plain which only captures its perceived distances. Labyrinth, layer, stream A flow of earth and gold, means and power We speak their language We give away victory upon victory The third, the second, the first face of defeat Slain The conjuring of illusory permanence Represent the world back to itself A monistic world-entanglement To judge all of this as given Is to fall into despair I have molded this being into my image This story’s frames are the limits I have set A line which weaves and collapses onto itself Until the mirror does not reflect but welcomes. An incomplete but not inaccurate representation of being. Hiding worlds, not world Worlds of such wealth Such wealth Unlimited power and unlimited danger An endless field of caverns Conjure the irreal Where are the gaps and the cracks in the sphere? We wander the spaces between the worlds Looking back over wreckages, labyrinths, versions