Science

the doctor tried to fix my head

she only made it worse

now i sit alone, transfixed

fraying ceaseless calamitous verse.

but she combed my hair,

and made me pale;

tucked me all away.

the little pixels left of me 

form now a mere crochet.

i’ll sometimes find one

in the dirt

or on a dying tree

unfold me sacred mother

breathe,

 and I am free.