You know the cure but you can’t take it.
Something blocks you – something, nothing:
the slightest, slenderest wall of glass
keeps you from stepping out of hell
and into the full monty, double-whammy,
ding-dong-daddy of life in the world.
A veil as thin as gossamer … but not even
the atom bomb your grandfather built
could blow a way through. Strange,
this, so strange: sitting in a meeting
with your soul on fire, and no one
can even see the smoke.

©2017 by Chris Floyd