15: Dec 2016 #14 - The Field and The Sequence Both Belong To The Potter
Authored by Dan Smith
The Field and The Sequence Both Belong To The Potter
by Dan Smith
Sleeping in stark white, Blinded by the heavens' inertial forces, Pressurized air filtered and filtered and filtered To the point of staleness, Bodies expelling more than the machine can process with Nowhere for the lungs to rest. Sleeping in a neutral net, Swaying with the rhythmic rise and fall of a chest cavity Still ventilating through compression Despite the coffin. Vines crawling towards the sun through the glass, Never designed to cling to the paint, Intended to soften the manufactured comfort And artificial deception of the will. Sleeping on industrial heartwood (an immature harvest), Trees once stood proud Now sold by the foot, Worn smooth under feet, No room for comfort; Cotton-swathed warmth only behind behind thrice locked doors, Keys riding rails Out of service underground. Sleeping in muted grey, Suffocating, surrounded by the dust of vertebrates Unaware of their responsibility for respiratory arrest. Oxygen laced with personal poison While systems of immunity cannibalize friends as enemies. Sleeping on silver Steel without reason, Careless. Regret a resounding echo Through the vessel now hollow; Bitter freedom from fear's leash Tethers soul to despair, Eternal patience weighed Against the feather of truth. Sleeping in pure pitch, Peace earned through fire, Life expiated in a furnace or reconciled in a kiln; Incinerated dreams coming true. Sleeping in a liquid fortress, Shallow breaths in a blindness Seen only through eyes unexposed, Awaiting the end of the ellipsis With walls thickening and thickening and thickening Until a premature rupture of membranes Leaves life Dead in the water.