The loop, the trap

I believe in the loop, the trap
of molten doors into the un-present.
I believe in the atrocities
of myself and the species;
unceasing rivers flow into me.
I believe in bursting, curling
problems that press me sweetly,
not seeking solutions in astral cities.
I believe only in the imperfect hurt
of bondings botched in the heat-
no quotation can corner it,
no script can cure it.

I sense the golden spreading
of time's tiles that pave sunsets
and all life and all time all together.
I am a killer, like father,
like sister, coldly making mince
out of patient minutes.