Tunnel and Light

M.D. sent me some poems at last. I've been bugging him, and most recently coaxed him with a photo of a volcano. Where is he now? Not in Burma... but dreaming of it, aren't you, dear friend.

I'm gonna remember you today, and put you here, in my happy place.

Taking up too large an area of seeing and not seeing

I put some patches of white clouds in the sky that I have painted blue

I move to the right a little bit and press my thumb down

On the buildings and bridges barring my view

I slide my finger along the river which is flowing out or into my pores

I make myself a cigarette and I make sure it has the same stale smell of yesterday

I make myself some smoke to fill in my lungs till I can’t speak

And words flow back into my bloodstream

I make myself a tunnel and light a lamp at the end of it

No, I make myself a light and at the end of it, a tunnel

That stretches to the arctic pole where night is not known

I make myself a wall, put it before me and scratch on it

With my fingertips which melt and drip down the wall

The wall is relatively larger and higher than

Every single one I’ve ever leaned my body against

by M.D.