The Pain Boxes


Sleeper watches over them---
   the pain boxes.
Some have blood in them.
Others are filled with
   salt water tears.
At night we sleep and dream.
We awaken in the morning
   with tears in our throat
       and blood on our scars

Sleeper owns the sleep of day,
   during which there are no dreams
His eyes are crossed out.
His mind is a solitary cell
   with a bare lightbulb
       hanging from the ceiling
The boxes are stacked
     up against the wall
The pain filed away,
     in alphabetical order
His mouth chokes on
       prayers and
             a host of crucifixions

Sleeper is the Saviour .
He is redemption
         in the forgetting.
He is the resurrection
       from a body that wants to die
He keeps my soul in a box
       lined with purple velvet.



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