289-128 Poet-in-Residence, Cell 17 On Reflection."
"Because a box is a box, humans are
cultivated into said box without choice or clarification,
specimens only existing-- as in you, I, us.
Flesh and frame-- restricted bone
matter comprising a box reluctant not to be a box.
But nurtured inside the box, let's
say, form which is shaped by and indigenous to the box
and the creator of the holy box--
only leading to another question about, of course,
the infamous box.
Form turns deceitful inside the box like anything caged,
leaning to a non-empathetic approach steeped in revolt--
is Judas in waiting.
Note, the box is not universal nor the universal.
Whatever hopes of otherworldliness
lies in the box itself.
The box will not elongate, dissolve, or vanish
without reaction to an action.
And here within lies problem of perspective,
as in-- there is none--
zero.
Along time's continuum, color, too,
is encouraged for the sake of the construction of the box,
which is precious as flickering light,
but cannot be verified since darkness is the original
concept of all things human."