PRELUDE TO THE CONFESSION
As long as a pulse
smuggles animation through my passive frame
my fingers will long to unhinge
that brash-hued coat from the neck
of your comic book comatose
and my voice will long to be heard
in the ears of a hero born to listen
I will long for understanding
from a hero born to sympathize
and I will long for volume
when the animation ceases
volume in spite of frozen gestures
destined not to notify your senses
of how their company
for the noble duration of dream-lapsed visits
made me feel like a hero
March 09