I have dug myself a hole // dug myself

an orbital ring

with a circumferential ratio of twelve to thirteen // the year

I compromised myself into a tepid token

dwelling on the Go square of Monopoly // I have dug

a canyon carved with crowns of fledgling sentiment

the fools gold sold at zoological gardens

which I once cupped in my hand, preparing to commit

my first sin

until my brother said look, we’re on TV and pointed

to the cameras displaying my movements on a screen // but

I kept digging caverns inside of myself, a dime for a

lost dinner or a day spent sucking my purple fingers

and I pitied Alice from Wonderland

who didn’t have a say in the matter; we had at least

that much in common // I have dug

labyrinths of rose bushes, which seems to be

a relatable theme:

beauty under protection, beauty under

self-destruction

I never thought I would see my mother

begging at my knees // pierced myself with a thorn

and bled onto her hands,

sat on the bank waiting for the innocent stream

to cleanse the iron acid crystallizing and forming

ruby kaleidoscopes on our skin // I am

still digging the dirt shed from my youth

knee deep, eyes bleary from the dust-choked air

but with my bare hands I am digging

some sort of stairway

to the ground.