I’ve got a caterpillar
Mustache crawling
Across my television’s
Tropical rainforest leaves.
A sunbeam is growing
A glow across its orange
And black rippling fuzz,
Where the change from vision
To seeing sound will wing from
A cocoon of strangers’ names.
The screen is a sheet of sound
I shook over the edge of the deck
To get rid of visions of each person
I’ve separated myself from. Vibrating
Dust to dust falls from
Sound’s face of night,
Waking up from under
Shaking sheets of snow,
Blanketing my security bed.
The warmth of the energy
That’s words is a sun submerged
Beneath my television’s surface.
I’ve got a mandate to let any stranger’s
Anger burn open the syllable
That greed is. The dust of their sins
Are mine. Mind. The window
Of TV screen sound scatters its shatter
Behind my eyes, where delusion starts
In the throat of a sentence’s
Burning core. And the winter
Night sky, waking up, falls,
Its pieces star-dusted fireflies sharing
The same heart I’ve got my mind
Set on, as the television screen
Door opens,
And the combination of all
Strangers’ names becomes the person
You love most, killed in the human war.
