Reaching out, and reaching in.
Find the edges, find the rim.
Take a look inside
and find
another empty vessel.
Touch is just a link to this,
like the wind brings the rain
to kiss the parched lips of her.
Alleviate the pain.
Soon she will be past her banks.
Sensation, an all-consuming river.
Salvation, yet again becomes
another fresh assailant.
Who is she
to wish
that she was full?
Picking up
the dross and discards.
Filling her head with shit
and heart with scars.
Soon, she’s searching for a way
to feel empty.
“Clean” and “New”
become trigger words,
and she wishes she
could start all over.
She once yearned for the touch,
the knowledge of everything.
This is why
she’s become obsessed
with row upon row
of empty jars and bottles.
Colored glass that catches sunlight,
that she might
fill with her elixir.
Siphon out her
spirit until she is again empty.
Upload
her consciousness to the cloud,
and leave
another hollow, vacant vessel.
Ready to be displayed,
clean, and proud
when the rain comes down.
A fascination
with how
the circle comes around.
Life, knowledge, and innocence
from the sky
into the ground.
DJR – 2023
