The Spoon In My Purse

Poised in wheelchair fortress,
Her hovering hands tremor,
Seeking precise location
For every stainless treasure -

Forks with forks,
Knives with knives,
Spoons with spoons,
Oversized on the side.

Was it a sin
To remix again,
When it kept her from falling in -

...to mouths of hounds eating human legs.
...to barrels of a shadow man's gun.
...to black elixir of veins.
...to wrath of mania's demons.

I should have faded away,
Like her whimpers of my name;
Echoing with sterile pain.

In dreams I reach to comfort her,
Met by muted shine of dull eyes -
Like the tarnished token
I stole as I said goodbye;

Concavity refracting convexity of time.

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