Crisis

stranded, lost in the
thickest part of the woods

wanting to play
it back in dog years

to retrace the crumbed
and pebbled path

to connect every hair
fallen from my head

to create a new, craftier maze
through the forest of youth

wandering bygone bars
dazed by fool’s gold moon

surviving on sugar daddy,
the charity of berries

the woebegone quest
exhausts, abscinds

the birds of then
have strewn the way

and coil gray threads
through nests of lust