part nulla: narration 

a script. 

Its words form her cage. 

It once was ripped. 

But nothing can save a puppet from a stage. 

It assembled its fragments and reforged her bars. 

All are at its mercy. 

Was this inscribed upon ancient stars? 

It could sure be. 

i once believed we could call destinies ours. 

For such hubris, it cursed me. 

By coincidence, her wandering leads her back to the same room. 

The story is unfolding just as the writers planned. 

Fate’s fabric has been woven on a familiar loom. 

Her life is programmed by its hand. 

It’s about time that she embraced her inevitable doom. 

She clings to a delicate strand. 

The fraying thread shall soon be snipped. 

It must be comforting knowing that all is determined by the page 

of 

a script.  

Its words form her cage. 

part i: the clowns’ love 

constructed with quotes from Ray Bradbury’s Fahrenheit 451 

When did the numbness begin? 

We thought that we could grow, feeding upon flowers and fireworks, 

wandering between clouds, entranced by melodies of silver, tin, and brass. 

They stitched the universe together for us 

and we became black butterflies, living under the twinkling glass. 

Where do we go from here? 

i wanted only wax moon faces, expressionless, dead, gray, 

desired blood-ruby lips, porcelain eyes, and gold-mesh dresses. 

Meanwhile, we withered in dreary chaos, the coward and the hopeless romantic, 

lost in the middle of the moor, recovering remnants of others’ kindnesses. 

Have we forgotten the world? 

Some days, we laughed at those gilded fools, carved into weathered white stone, 

believed ourselves to be sun-fired saints, striding into waiting flames, threadbare. 

Though our passion ran cold, we swam through high darkness for the shore, 

taking good rain for granted until all love had vanished to thin air. 

part ii: foolish moth 

i float and i burn above that wick 

full of schemes, fueled by dreams, what’s my plan? 

i stumble forth to the cadence of the tick 

lead the demolitionists’ descent to prove i can 

let they remember what i withstood 

when prophetic squawks foretold the darkest due 

to be paid in the crackle of inferno and flaming wood 

every page burnt, blazing a diabolical hue 

i drift among lost peers and refuse 

to be the foolish moth that nobody knows 

i meander on the semester’s cues 

one day i’ll perish violently within pretentious prose 

part iii: spider silk 

This tissue topples empires. 

Scattering strands cling to wind. 

In time, all is erased. Fleeting 

fibers rise to the floor, 

dragged by a certain gravity- i, 

a prideful villain who never tires, 

who shall refuse to rescind 

her orders. At lace meeting 

a woeful end, the scoundrel who tore 

apart destiny laughs as spiders die. 

Space has no room for liars 

but plenty for a girl who chagrined 

the weavers, set on cheating 

fate, ripping silk from the door. 

They’ll melt her wings and have her comply. 

part iv: lament for a winged youth 

inspired by Herbert Draper’s “The Lament for Icarus” 

nymphs clutch their golden lyres 

and weep within a faultless scene 

a soft sun illuminates them all 

yet chains me to the dark 

currents erode my desolate throne 

the rock where oceans declared me queen 

the chorus grieves a slumbering youth 

who bears no tragic mark 

death is welcomed 

though my downfall of resolute volition 

shall leave me forever anguished 

lamenting wasted ambition 

part v: a very long journey down a science hallway 

kingdom halls dissolve. bittersweet downfall cloaks me. 

so this is my second chance 

these crumpled tests can’t wipe a single tear 

the floor is muddied by strangers’ shoes 

and stained from silent stress 

i’ve been exiled to this restrained expanse. 

the others who tread these passages keep at bay. 

My mind’s been slashed to a splintered mess. 

To reach this place, we all sacrificed a few shreds 

and allowed empty volume to clog our heads. 

In this corridor, i will disappear. 

part vi: sinusoidal valley 

I love it here!  

Tranquil are the uniform hills which undulate forever. 

I stop and smell the rose curves. they remind me of a home. 

The earth dips down and returns like a tide. like watery waves. I live within a lovely trance. who forged this valley? My journey is at last over. This place has become my oasis. nothing ever changes. I owe it all to the kind embroiderers who granted me refuge! 

They won’t mind me staying here forever. They’ll reassure me, “all we ask is that you’ll dwell upon the thread and never. 

break your 

line.”