Modern Romanticism

Flood the surface.
Filter your sight
on what you see.
Damage your body
in every overtone.

There’s only so much
you’re able to scratch,
replacing one color
with the next match.

Eyes not on the prize,
you step out a circle
you’ve drawn from your
dream of perfection.

Why do you sleep
with snakes in your bed?
Those faces are dark,
depending on your submission
to their false light.

Another detail leaked,
gliding further than the last,
before you take one more
near-fatal leap
in a bitter river.