prime ingot
He will never forget that day
It was someone’s birthday the day before
But he wasn’t sure who’s, all he knew
Was he was not there, much less
Than the plastic he was pressed on
Still and silent, sitting on air-ground
The wind was butter but he didn’t breathe
And death did not knock, because the
Bouncehouse only had a window
And no doorknob, and no lock
even if it did, he wouldn’t let it in
It wasn’t a day of dying or for living
It was just the day after a birthday
When all the bouncing finished
When he ascended, with young eyes
And butter in his lungs, he saw
What everyone has, but forgot
his mother’s womb, pink in the sky
Fattened and providing, trite
But thriving, patiently waiting
For the night to rebirth him
To where the air is air
And the sky is blue
Where death could knock
But wouldn’t
Where life could hide
But shouldn’t
crude trench