the mind will play games, making gods out of men

you are reading Hamilton again
in search of a purpose or some excuse,
as if there were a god in there
responsible for your darkness,
but the stories are all the same

you are sinking inside of your body
out of view
in an empty room, I have lost you

although there are pictures, I believe
you were never really here
my life has been reduced to the tricks
an imagination can play

in the midst of emptiness
you aren't reading or making dinner,
you never grow thirsty or get angry
when I am too old to play make-believe
you will only be the quick-burning flame of memory

you will cease to exist

in the middle of a fire, a maze, a whirlpool,
there is always one way out
Icarus knew it but forgot himself somewhere
up in that sky, found himself another fire
another maze he could not escape

had he waited until a full moon shone down
who knows what the story would be then
probably no story at all

Emily Belzer