“…when I grow up, I want to be endless stars, reaching
into infinity… mirrors refracting in on themselves… endless
labyrinth of narcissistic supernovas…” -xxx

I think, sometimes, I already have
that labyrinthine quality to my step.

O, treasure, the misaligned patella of things
and its gait, that ruinous gait, like
the sun nooning, the shifting mirages, wherein (

I am five or seven or even nine, but likely seven, of me

) the room is getting crowded with oases
I will avoid anyhow.

Any one of these an outstretched hand,
any one wrath, indignation, trouble, a band of evil angels…