Blackstars

Through a half inch chink in my prison of warm rubble, I stare.  Gluttonous for the light. I screamed, at first.  Now, breath is shallow and rationed.  In thirty minutes, I will manage a gooselike honk.  I am held motionless and squeezed in painful pincers of crazy two-by-fours, in steel and glass.  I squat.  I smell of myself.  Never been so familiar with my own kneecaps.  One arm, my best one, captive by a deadly weight.  The clockwork beams coming through my spyhole show me flesh, so purple. I thirst.  Three nights I count, and I am fading.  These nights have been clear, and I see a star selection.  For a while, the burning smell permeated all.  Now, it is my own effluent and decay.  I babble to myself ….the sad joke is on you now, brother.  You proud atheist.  If there was a Pride Parade for such, you would have been the flag bearer.  You feel like praying now, don’t you?  But you don’t know to whom.  

All of this day, this bright dreamlike day, I see stars too.  They are before me, black spiders pulsing.  Please.

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