it enters through the spine
slinking its way up
and now you're like
a string of beads
on a bracelet.
separated in spite of
burnt puppet clandestinies
that pray in narrative grids
across each other's bush
in delight, order is a snake
a fat chicken to grease
on the meat of your tongue
entering through the eyes
and making a nest
in the retina.
you become what you behold
but you can only behold yourself
with eyes either looking
down from heaven
or out of hell
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