Detritus
a god you worship
a temple you have constructed and dutifully maintain
such perfect disarray
to disturb these sacred grounds
would be heresy
but where would a heretic like myself even start?
you have assembled a jigsaw puzzle with no clear picture in mind
by jamming pieces together regardless if they will stick
and then you threw it at the wall and let the pieces collect with the rest
detritus, you speak through me
you drag me down with the phone lines
i am your estranged follower in the dirt
not sleeping in the flowers
not even weeping in the poppies
just face down in the goodwill rejects bumbling around for a sense of purpose
but like coins clattering into a sewer
like scattered constellations across hermes' hellenistic map
all points on the pentagram form the same star in the end