Untitled Reaction to Diving Bell and the Butterfly

Two eyelids flutter as in post-

coital communication,

the languid and prolonged

blink-flaps of butterfly-

curtains, wrapped in the

somnolence of bedsheets.

Bedridden and awake,

the prisoner clings, claws at the

waining of his dreamy relief,

at wandering remembrances,

childhood stories of Atlantis,

of King Midas and then

the Golden Fleece—

Spliced by an electric emissary

of his brain stem, final

whisps of cartoon

Westerns concede once more

to harsh December wind blowing

through the window, confined

in Room IV.