Madness
to call it a gift or a curse
is the temptation that leads to death

I try to be precise
the way you handle live wire—

the mind unattended is an algorithm:
instinct writes
experience revises
DNA sets the terms

The religious dressings are absent
No instinct to reach for angels
no demons to answer to

No lake of fire
Just the loop
The coldest circle
I’ve been drafting since my first
nightmare

The eyes are faster than memory
it answers before your mouth opens
it’s already counted the pattern
the flicker of the streetlight
weighed the pause in the cashier’s smile

No answer is faster
than a pulse,
I’m already behind
So I take good notes.