2012/07/26

Poem 16

Inside this shoebox we killed for
There is
We don’t know what
Neat stacks of hundred dollar bills
Jewels like stars
The dreams of those who’ve slept in this town
The dream of this town (when we open it, the dreamer will wake, and we, all part of his dream, will be gone)
Our wishes come true
The power to punch a hole into the universe

Inside this shoebox we killed for
There is
A coffee thermos
A flashlight
A box of ammo
Two pages of poems
Countless wor(l)ds

Inside this shoebox we killed for
There is
No cat, poisoned or otherwise, dead or living, undead, un-cat
Baleful spirits
All the evils of the world
No hope
Nothing

Darkness

NOTE: lines "A coffee thermos / A flashlight / A box of ammo / Two pages of poems, all crossed out. Written below the poem: "E can't see it. He's view is too narrow, limited. It's not a lake, it's an ocean, darkness before the act of creation, before the Big Bang, darkness upon the face of the deep, upon the face of the waters, before light, before the primeval atom, before the word, before THE POEM. I can be a creator, the creator. It has happened before, and it will happen again, many times."