Guilt

All the times you unheld something
I believe that is the word
I mean letting go
It is like the bones of your hand
It’s merely structure
It’s like a piano being a piano
No apology is necessary
But you believe you have angel wings, don’t you?
So your apologies are gigantic ones
Like the winds stirred up by your wings
When you are upset and they flutter wildly
You feel there should be a groan in ice
Even in the ice of outer space
Of your feelings
You think you are a special form of earth
You suppose you are different from dirty water or hard winds
All because you have a name and a front door
And these feel like solid things
Those two things you must perforce defend

I, myself, am just a guillotine

Guessed It All Along

I have this interstellar feeling,
I keep having this outer
space feeling, this awful
feeling, that when we get
to the end of the universe
by extragalactic probe or whatever,
some futuristic beam,
we will find another
universe begins there
like another dream,
and there will be this fence,
this ancient fence,
with a sign that refers
to us, to all of us,
and the sign will read
“QUARANTINE.”
And the worst part
will be, the absolute
worst of it will be
that we’ll feel no need,
no earthly need
to wonder or ask
why.