by Dante Bortolotti

infinitely expanding reality, fur-lined and snowy
your face broke apart and came back together nine times this month
your name is spelled in pen scribbles and tangled ribbons
if we’re infinite, why do i feel so close to the end?
 
holes in the ground threaten to swallow me whole
opening spontaneously under every fourth step, maybe every fifth
what’s the end goal? what was the starting point?
what does the path look like? all flat, or four dimensional, twisting inward? 
 
i saw someone disappear behind the tree at road’s end
he looked just like me, an empty silhouette backlit by streetlight
maybe a stalker, maybe a hallucination
maybe it’s me hiding from my own perception
 
i’m locked in the house, i’m hiding from it too
reality is breathing down my neck and it’s cold
if i turn all the lights on i won’t feel it anymore
it’ll be done before i can even remember it