What is feeling
If it can be smashed so easily?
Have I built up anything
In the course of a happy day
That cannot be torn down by tomorrow’s
Inevitable sorrows
Am I so fragile
That a word from the outside of the transparent orb
That encloses my physical self
Being said
Pricks the invisible dome
And leaves me utterly defenseless
Against the onslaught of everyday realities
And what is to be said for
Rebuilding that shell
Will it provide me
Anything
More than a few short hours of
Divine oblivion
Ah, but what can be accomplished
In a few short hours
Many great things
And these things
If carefully constructed
May perhaps furnish a sort of
Hospital waiting room
Wherein
When I am next divested of my orb
I might pass the time in slightly more comfortable surroundings
Than had I been
Rushed directly to the operating table
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