That in Which We Covet

by Pablo Beimler

 
 

Tap, tap, tap.
Our weary fingers palpate your glass case.
We know what it holds inside.
We’ve known it all along.
Yet, we’ve been too afraid to retrieve it.
We can’t fathom the mutilation it’s endured,
You’ve stained it, shredded it, then left it in the cold.
You’ve force fed it your duplicity, your hypocrisy.
Cunning are your ways, stunning are your lies.
Our cheeks press against the glass walls.
The sharp coldness pierces through our veins,
A coldness that runs through the conduits of our desensitized bodies.
Thirst and hunger are all that are left to feel.
Yet, we now can feel the void,
Because we are so close to restocking that empty cage.
You sealed those cages years ago with guile.
Your glue spreads with your manipulations,
Hardens by your distractions,
All by judicious design.
You devoured the key and left us with no choice.
No choice but to recover what was ours all along.
The road was long and painful.
The sorrows were ceaseless.
The yearnings were interminable.
But then we began to turn against those feelings.
Denied they existed.
Denied history.
And you held our hands through such repudiation.
You led us through the doorways of distraction.
You masked our senses.
We lost sight,
Then in turn, mind.
You pampered us, but left us unfulfilled.
You kept us alive, but cornered.
Our corner shrank until we spilled out the pores.
You strove to soak up the spill,
But your weaknesses became our strengths.
You lost sight, the blind leading the blind.
Your orders beamed through the atmosphere,
But dissipated into nothingness.
And now we’ve reached your pantheon.
What lies in your holding cell is our Mecca.
Tap, tap, tap.
A new crack snakes its way along the surface.
Tap, tap.
Snake becomes amoeba.
Meandering incisions become anarchic lacerations.
Tap.
The bastille now lays in a million weathered pieces,
Unveiling that in which we’ve coveted most.
That in which holds all of our pieces together.
That in which can never be destroyed
Despite your feeble attempts.
That in which lies, the Truth.

 
 
Pablo Beimler‘s poems consist of five parts dried Hawaiian flower extract and three parts coconut milk.

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