Friday, December 27, 2013
When the sun resigns to slumber
we meet again
to congregate like a Sunday morning funeral.
Begin the procession of downcast spirits
heads hung low.
Glide against the walls and ceiling
as they vacillate between the
3rd and 4th dimensions.
I see reverberations.
Last night there was a packed house;
no elbow room at all and
someone’s locked the door
One lonely heart arrives too late
both hands desperately cling the window in anguish
eyes straining to behold a work of God behind frosted glass
for hours before dissolving in harrowing deliquescence-
as if I could have saved anyone’s soul.