The Poem of Pure Reality
A life reduced to boxes,
cartons,
bags.
It’s too small.
Too insignificant.
It should fill trucks and trailers.
No.
Think bigger.
Oceans and caverns.
And universes.
And if you’re lucky.
Really lucky.
It will fill the biggest space.
The vast darkness.
One moment
suspended in the mind.
A memory.
A Cocktail Combo
Red sequins or clean white cotton --
a choice fit
to torture a king.
But in a city
that bleeds night
lined in rhinestoned feathers,
there is no need
two tails
and a diamond leash
cannot meet.
Packed in Ice or Salt
Rambling.
My pen is running.
Like a wheel without a road.
The motion is empty.
Useless.
And exhausting.
But it doesn’t stop.
My third eye will not sleep.
Though it has been blind for years.
And silence has not been stretched
into a bandage
big enough to hold it closed.
Yet my nails are busy.
Bleeding on their own.
They have forgotten
they are useless.
That empathy is not the stain
they drag across the sky.
Put me back.
Inside a box, I am happy.
Confined and naked.
Between walls that are dying
to bear the scars
of this pain.
