Supernova Sacrilege

staring
at many bottles
of glass and plastic and metal
reflecting more and more
of the day as it passes
stealing a moment from here
and then there

releasing omissions
of turned up gas and novelty items
hygenic goods bought from the store
consuming every last vestige of this time left
ticking away
things stealing life from parents
and children
dogs and cats

pulling the sheets away
just to waste another day
within bottles and fear
craving sustenance,
any sane, operable conversation
any chance to share life with life
instead of intimate thieves

they force you to want them
collect them
reproduce them
reflecting allusion, illusion
styrofoam lovers and metallic playthings
marching

like those hammers
in Pink Floyd’s The Wall
abstract to demanding
no meaning for living
no meaning for live…

insects crawling on my windshield
death by inanimation
my wipers annihilating left to right
and back.

a tent
to hide between
or on
resting my labored flesh
burying my useless mind
no one wants to converse any longer!
they have bottles
and wiper blades to contend with
they have hammers
and knives to kill with
they have machines to torture
and walls to yell at
they have talks with ceilings
and inject themselves with electricity

I am a dying breed then
unable to speak of metals and magnets
I consume all of my plastic and glass,
scraping my innards with its cruel propensity
my walls are cracked to let in life (light?)
am I still living?
still staring at the metal flash
of irons
or the harsh glimmer of glass?
but I am no longer wanted
in a world that is dead
supernova sacrilege is what I call it
leave nothing
but the bare bones of its carcass
empty
and littered with…
nothing.

--Katie Graebener