Born to death, to prayer.
Angels, egun, mother
Huddled-over glass box
rubber sealing circles, plastic
hands smooth comfort, wither-skin
I prissily eat this air
Coating, color of artificial sun,
bored with repetitious day,
asks me: What’s night like?
We need to be reminded,
brief was our stay. Recall
warm, though. Deep brown,
Aerodynamic gas, white light blazing through
glaze of unready lids, rays’
promises of multi-hues, shapes, shade.
Who is who here?
teeny tubes tie me to:
fists, little nails extend/curl.
Globes, pustules, bubbles, sphere
here. All convections of heaven.