The Waiting Room

Crisp boxes are coming to remove us
In billions of subatomic particles.
Smaller and smaller grow our lives
With every silence,
Every held breath.

Movers are crushing
Our priceless Monet.
What do they know,
Procuring their sad clown paintings at Walmart?
Velvet Elvises from roadside stands.

The sea is littered
With charred leaves, featherfall,
Fingerprintless knives of thieves.

Oh, Darling,
Your name is about to be called
In the black church
Of poison candles and plastic flowers.