Laniakea

I am the world on a stick,
nose a fuzzy
blot on the landscape,
an emptiness where the neck stops,
filled with everything there is to fill it.
No guillotine
but the lack of a head
puts a crack in the mirror
and eventually, the reflection
disappears.

I am the spotlight on the stage
and the stage spot-lit,
illuminating the
illusion.
No bullet, no blood,
but a hole
where I used to point to myself,
a wormhole in a birdbath
sank by a sinking
stone.

I am a wave on laniakea,
forever
beachbound;
once the trench is dug
experience rushes in, torrents
flooding the mind,
currents crumbling the sides.
No amount of reason
can save you
now.