you, when looking up
at your great blue sky
universe full of gifts-
patriarch of all of us
staring back in disbelief-
spirits out there,
guiding you-
muscle-bared, red-burnt skin
steering you, malicious
into the path of wrong

you, when looking up
find grace in things
that are not there
and absolution by simple virtue
of wanting to believe

knees bent, begging
emasculated, eviscerated
pulling every shred of decency out through your
pores
brain waxed
smooth
caressed and suffocated
by the hands you think
have carried you

you, when looking up
into that great mirror
that you’ve shattered
are the blindest of the blind
walking straight into the fate
that you’ve designed.