Paper Jail

This tight and humid skin is only
A paper jail for you
A shell. Fragile, weak
And ready to leave.

We only see some small and
Quiet side
Of an incredible transaction

You look up and to the left, for hours
And wait for glory to wrap around you
Something much more beautiful
Awaits

Bland Hope

“After the MRI comes back, those doctors
Can figure out what’s wrong and
Finally get him to wake up again”
A bland hope that
Doesn’t even make it past the hospital walls.
We’re in our own universe now
Created not from anguish but because
We are not in the habit of your absence

Distant Body/Event Horizon

You are a million miles away
With a surface made from
A weak and nothing material
We will not see your soul when it bursts
With blinding light, outside

I sit beside you reading
It’s completely silent, like a vaccuum
Took all of the air from the room
I turn my head to look at you, my neck makes no noise
Against the fabric of my jacket

Something isn’t right with your image.
I trace every shadow and line
Seeking a subject of visual scrutiny
And finally pin down, under your arms, a glow
That hasn’t always been there.
Bright orange–where is it coming from?
I broaden my search
Eyes sweeping rapidly across you
Until at once, the gestalt before me comes into focus
You are lit from underneath
Your entire being
Has an iron-hot silhouette
Like an event has begun

Lensing

Something burns so brightly
On the other side of this worn surface.
Chalky, fragile, stretched so tight
A gray curtain hiding this
Raging, turbulent, powerful energy.

In this room I can only hear your breath
But beneath it is a deep roar
Ready to be set free
As your surface turns to embers
And you escape so beautifully
From our sight

Occasion

I had to buy a suit

A fashion statement,
So that I could carry your casket.

I don’t remember if it was only a dream
When the cashier asked me
“What’s the occasion?”
I said
“It’s for a friend.”

Glory Cloth

Your absence leaves a quiet in the room

We are watching you
Leave this poorly draped cloth
That soon will not contain your Glory
Underneath is a beautiful pool of life
And it retreats ever deeper in your bones
Shying from this weak material exterior
Cocooning something so beautiful
That I can hardly imagine
Where you are going

The Day You Died

Your paper skin hides the event
Loud, violent, beautiful
Raging deep red and Scorching through its confinement
Your mortal shedding
Burns in wisps
Just beneath your blanket
Hidden from our sight
We only see some small and
Quiet side
Of this incredible transaction

Natural People/Frosted Glass/Cretin

Through frosted glass
You natural, interesting people, talk.
Suave and vital characters that
Fit together like puzzle pieces

I watch you settle with so much comfort
In the same room as me
Even as you talk to me,
There’s frosted glass between us
My breath against a window, I’m staring
At you natural, interesting people.

Solder Synapse

I put your brain together
In little chips beneath my hands
With rough solder-work to fuse your systems.
And instructions to fill your thoughts.

You come to life in sampled blasts of voltage
First a beating heart: something, nothing.
Something, nothing.
You wake by reading bits tucked away in
A little continuous space in your memory.