Don’t Think Me Like That

 

Sometime before Spring

Someone will pull you in by thinking next to you.

Their hungry rumination will tug at the flimsiest physical thing–

an eyelash, a button, a cardboard shoe.

 

Then, inching closer to fatality,

you’ll see your reflection–all your hair gone, your shirt open—

and start to swallow the eventuality

of intractable, irreversible consumption.