poem: sub specie aeternitatis

the whole point of being a neurotic is
you can’t outwill the neurosis, the spine-handling
and splindling rises bright inside you,
bathtub water fries circuts — Hestia took the piece
out of her arm and spun it around in
deft fingers to recalibrate it. the brain leeches into
the neck into the body outsourced as it already
is into handheld devices that watch and listen with the
sole purpose of custom advertisement: sounds so
pulpy and yet you’ve signed up! — Hesita took the screen
in the back of her eyes that flips images
and flips the spill to say: well, the narrator said, and here
the protagonist wasted years of her life: a thing
that happens to everyone. If you zone down real
deep and let the eyes sink into the socket into the neck
it will be cordless good sleep it will almost
be death.