How to Open a Hole
I don’t know how the beetles got in.
Landed like plums rolling off a cloud,
soft erasers inside their mouths,
my dreams were first to go. Siphoned
out via bullet holes, like honeybees
smoked out their hive, chorus of black
lines, burned thick and dark, gilded
grill marks, hexagon honey stuck
to their eyes, there are six sides
to loneliness. Ballistic blowfly,
visions of parallel lives, you hide,
what you hold. Blind to the brilliance,
I died with my eyes at an angle
to my skull.