But not in this lifetime.
I envision the words like smoke
As I utter them to those with infinite access
To the crawling, intertwining
Spirals of flesh and nerves
That most humans would not call more
Than a brain.
A sentiment so thorough
That it impedes the vessels of
Oxygen somehow more so
Than the delicate encasement
That survives the journey of life.
As ’twas touched, or rather, struck open by
The remains of what once was a transparency solid to the soul,
They cloudily mirrored the fragmented vessel
In the dim-lit eyes that beheld
The smoke bearing the indestructible
Ruins of my psyche.
poems by a young gay english major 