Pacemaker
This world, to the kabbalists, is an empty space
vacated by Ein Sof. Lord. In its place the void
of human teeming. Empty shells needing filling.
When 5G comes — to the faulty hearts, only the newfound chance
of failure. Just above the right atrium, tiny machines planted
keeping them to beat. Pulsing electric. From Pyonyang the touch
of a button could cause their stopping. Vacant space.
This brain, to the ones still using it, is an empty space
displaced by information. Fact. What heart once
fulfilled — flicker feel sense love — the brain now does:
Empty shells.
This world, to the astrophysicists, is mostly dark matter.
When first I pictured this matter, emptiness, I used my head:
here, over here, all of us and our stuff. There, way over there, darkness.
Now I’ve felt long in my heart and found there it is. In every pulse.
Every cell. An emptiness for each in each and every empty shell.
* * * * *
Limited Characters
And then there was the time you let
Me limit myself to a little more than a hundred
Characters, and shouting into the whirlwind I met
Deplorable Bob, Deplorable Jane, Deplorable Fred
Who threatened to send my whole family
To the gas chambers. As if Deplorable
Fred had even heard of Zyklon B!
What I wouldn’t give if you were capable
Of introducing me to expansive characters, limitless
Characters who in their limitless love
Would offer to fly me and my family out west,
And when we’d all descended like angels from above
Would fly to us on wings like birds
Who knew no bounds in love or words.