I am in a coffin

of the mind

in my body. I don’t know

 

why I insist on this. gut

tricked out grief. heart. nerves. bitter

joints. hello? why. and

 

could this be the crawl

space into the buried

occupation of the soul. consider

 

with some small lit wick

the opposite, where you can

not feel or see. not feel where

 

you are, dear one. or that you are. that

you are not the anguish, but too

easy inside it. the coffin

 

basecamp. what if

acutely, you are too much

in relationship with the woe

 

you do not want. without

one window. and no eyehole

of contemplation. I am

 

wondering now. was soul

the password out? and in

again next go?