Through his designer sight
he became his designed environment
his critical distance evaporated

His critique equated to janitorial disgruntlement
when his premise had footprints
on the ceiling, walls and floor

as if his soul had been trampled on
his baby dropped
his layer of paint not pampered

His designed world was but a fold in the fabric
a string of beads slid along crevices of his desires
and existence while suckled remained hidden from insight

                                    —animasuri’24