"Funeral moth"

You became a funeral moth,
natural and unwholesome,
drawn by will against wisdom to wool
seeing its last day in the sun.

(You rebecame a tyrant child,
riveted to an endless now –
everything handled like a toy,
ever-more sugar in the cereal;

while he filled his sails being bored,
sucked through life by things that suck,
blowing backwards against intent –
distracted, unimpassioned, dust.)

—Just then the darkness unfolds
like it might in the nighttime,
but hmm.. the space feels so small,
and no stars are shining…

And there’s an endless feast
of exactly what you ordered,
and there’s nothing else,
at all, forevermore…