Limbo

It showed me the true nature of the walls

Of the four-chambered heart

Beyond the constructs of mamillion bleating, that too solid room

Where the last amusing riddles that show a hidden way out 

All fizzle and flicker and sputter with wax

No more insightful paradoxes, no more

Hellish stories of fiery prisons or black empty deaths

No more heavenly scripture, no more stairways to enlightenment

Maybe a little like the myths of limbo

Or the unopened boxes housing creatures both dead and alive

For the walls, the walls, the walls, the walls

And all the world a colorful projection of my artistic sensibility 

Like Plato's fires but worse, much worse 

And even inside me, just more me looking out! 

More walls, more boxes

More projections, more limbos 

More labyrinths, more paradoxes 

And I craved for religions that I had joyfully sundered 

And I craved for friendly logics I had confidently championed

And I cursed this cruel, cruel prayer that I had answered 

For me, by myself, by something, to see beyond the box, to know the unknowable 

I had asked but thinking, hoping, longing 

For more, with magical thinking

That I could make a door...

But no, there are no doors, and in my insanity realizing this

I did what any sane creature born in a box would do:

I made a perfect box, a perfect room with four perfect inescapable walls

A perfect four-chambered heart, a perfect compassion that was hopelessly 

Incapable of relating to pity 

And behold, my beautiful box slipped through itself (the door!)

And gliding out upon an infinity of boxes

I, the tesseract, make a primordial kind of joke

So what’s next?

Exactly

Surely this moment will define itself for me

Or is it waiting–my indecision holding up the hold universe?

The humourist laughing, death and dying

My skin burns from the crashing tidal waves of solar oceans

But for god that is just another day at work

These kinds of considerations will

Define us for eternity