You instituionalised.
You morose.
You of the atypical mirrors
and doors, and wow, the fractures.
wheels overhead-- what over-arching
tumbling. Your ripe words have
an insecure place in your mouth.
The dreams are what matters,
hostile frights in your hand.
You tentative.
You fortunate.
You of the book put next to another.
Find the broken wire, follow
every spark, all the way until
you reach the end, fire goes out.