Prisoners

Reciprocal captor, human heart.

It matters where you’re standing,

we call this perspective and go

simple at one who quarries

themself: names, faces to ask

what does it tick for? How am I

strong? Eyes lifted on sky’s blue

nothingness, ask now, in fear

of your walls, if my face is among

these. I want to die making my

bed in the morning, before coffee.

Most won’t die full and I don’t wish

to either. Take the life of a mayfly.