the things you’ve made are crawling around
you, lifting your lashes so they can peak into
your eyes, trailing after your life like
they made it. because maybe they did,
you think, but the scent of grapes is missing
from this collection of Those Who Know Too Much,
(none know it all
but Too Much doesn’t have to be
all)
and the feeling of blood down your tongue,
lips to your skin, the soil dug into your knees
until you’re too weak to stand. too weak to do
much except think,

i remember all of these things.
and now i too perhaps
Know Too Much.