32 @ 9:30

[joel]

how thirty-two at half past nine
play make believe — the panes
soft separate the naught without
from matter’s built remains

like coffins’ buena vista site
two windows on my wake —
two sixteen panes for benedight
dead me within — stand fast

such satin-pillowed furniture
take incandescent lamp
and golden gilded kiss on me
like mourner lips clammed damp

with silent touch — profanity
dead contact for goodbye
a little protest amity
alleviation smiles

and tiny centered on the sill —
as radiation panes
fly up in buttress grand display —
a wooden figure reigns

an idle olive wood display
a hidden casket hinge
a via dolorosa love
presents an idle cringe

of someone stooped — of death march gone
whose burden slipped away
who held up love embraced and on
his shoulder freedom — peace

across inside those many panes
beneath the casket close
above a funeral cross of brass
below as incense rose

[WIREMAN]

poetic flow.............