Sunday, January 23, 2022

The Afternoon Plasma

On invalid lawn once again
With my one friend the sun
Who wipes clean what I've been 
And what I've done

With unintelligible light
That fills my bones
Too familiar with this creaking joint
Though I never could call it home.

I am used to the revulsion,
Accustomed to the trauma,
That when heaven's wings move in
It seems bereft, of drama,

The shiny grass seems for climbing in
Defeated unto sleep,
Not the giggle slick illusion
Beckoning a leap

To what needs all that detritus
To weave its bracelet of light.
It invites us
With baggage on our flight.

The angels want to feel the weight 
Of something unredeemable 
As something to appreciate,
Something esteemable 

With their smile that makes the body shake
And thoughts reduce to stars
In the ranks of the newly awake
Learning nothing's ever far.

I pull a blanket over my legs,
Spin one last double-or-nothing wheel
Like a cylinder of cigarette,
My brain at last a sponge, to feel.