THE RED LINE

THE RED LINE

Thursday, November 20, 2014

CORNERED



CORNERED

When the very last of the evening's guests
has closed the door in polite retreat
and the faint echo of conversation
falters into distant soundlessness;

When the lamp on the desk flickers and falls
and the gret room is dashed into darkness
you stand, deathly still, at the center of unshakable solitude,
unprotected, undisturbed, facing the fateful arrival;

Of a visitor, unbidden and baleful, intelligent and unforgiving,
traveling across unfathomable distances
to find you in your smallness and insufficiency
and while devoid of a physical body, if somehow feels thick and fleshly
as it rapidly displaces the air and surrounds you;

Suffocating you in its unyielding immensity
your stifled screams stillborn in your skull
knowing, intuitively, the hopelessness of aggression or apology,
and unable to apport from the nightmare that has you --

You conclude, with bitter resignation,
that there will be no further delays, defenses or excuses,
and that there will be no escape on this night
when your conscience has caught up with you.

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