In The Box Is Blind Hell

In The Box Is Blind Hell

In the box is blind hell

A swirling maelstrom of non-magnitudes

Voices pining for emptiness profound as black space

And trying to fill it with matter fashioned from the junk

Of someone else's mind

 

I stand outside the box

Repelled like a magnetic polar opposite to

What I see going on inside

Looking at the emptiness around the box

And refusing to build

A master surveying

His unfulfilled domain

Cataloging all his tools once again

Oiling the moving parts

Admiring how they rest in their pouches

The box must be incorporated into the scheme

Can’t be left out

Must be left space in the basement

Museum lit in a small white pool of light

As the thing that pointed the way

And provided the plans

To build the foundation

It’s mirror image opposite