Carrot Trap

I never saw that box when I was younger,
Younger and surrounded by many boxes of
My own folding.
It's here now, though: Its corners are clear, its string dangling,
Dangling my dagger of the mind.
Orange it twirls, tied by a bow.

That eatable is sharp, waving chummy,
But for you it will be others.
Some painted skull bottle, or,
That pill never swallowed a soloist, or,
Another weight whose handle points
To your hand. Pick your vegetable.

How many others trace that pendulum in their dark?
My carrot's glint grows to blind,
Wags faster, and before me recedes to the back.
Just how many others are duped weaklings,
Clutching at its embrace with hands which after
Will no longer clutch at all?

No, you must back up, have to,
So do it with me here.
Let me hear you hear me say,
"The carrot is false! Things change, child!"
I know you see it: Our carrot hangs above summer-
Under that box is the cool season of a pond before rain.

But that box is the end:
I know it like I know breathing.