The Thought-Box

–

Four corners, four walls

Contort in shadowed display.

He stares, then replies, same as you –

Everybody does it don’t they?

–

Choose your final method,

Then crawl away and hide.

Do not dare resurface

Forever you must now reside

–

In this box of bonding;

A pot-boiler room of fear.

We smoke and we drink,

Are you tired? Are you near?

–

There are empty poems

To hide and not be found.

They are not quite solid

They are not yet bound

–

But you told me to write

My way out of the box,

So every morning at dawn

I meet your Thought-Fox.

–

This midnight moment locked

Until death do us part –

The dark hole of my head

Re-framed as your tragic art.

–

Image: skeeze via Pixaby