huck

Audient


Aboard this mobile library
of DNA, your brothers and sisters
are remembered minutely,
catalogued discreetly in the
bristles of the chair, 'cross the
surface of the window sealing shut
this pouch of air,
like a lung collapsing forth
through red lights
to its new home.

It might be a fellow boarder or
the guard without a ward,
punching holes for striking wage;
one of them will have your eye.

You'll wonder for a moment
if that person ambles home
to a living, breathing joy - their
own patron of dead cells - or is
met by nooks and crannies,
whose impartial compilation of
the living gives
no prize.

Your temple,
pressed against the glass, relates.



***