Between the Pillars of Ashdod

They have not needed to cut my rays

Instead these locks have been conned ditioned

Braided into short circuits

My sky transfigured into a fishbowl

My mind morphed into a tadpole

Capacity for tad bites

Attention spanning the first few grains of an hour glass

Nothing more

Certainly not the promise to Abraham that's spilled along the bioluminescent ocean shore

Neurons have the collectic of morons

And my art wades as deep as crayons

Only more shallow

Like the layer of protection on my device

That stops my imagination from multiplying like mice

I am constrained and pacified

My eyelids doze

No matter how near or far I hold a book up to my nose

And my petals detatch

Like a late August rose