who even knows

what these lines trace
these light emitting diodes
tiny man-made replicas of suns

words too
man-made replicas of memories
crawling furred feelings
wriggling from organ to organ
soldering themselves to thoughts
spit from synapse to soiled synapse
screaming in sweaty discharge and
like ectoplasm
like psychic snot on a psychic doorknob

slicker than snot on a doorknob
my dad used to say
who even knows what that means

how many years has he been in the ground now
his voice comes to me in dreams
his personality some frankenstein chimera of
my own worm squirming issues

these lines
march
dragging me along with them
kicking up ashes while we maintain a rhythmic step