A Poem
by Ned



What looks like fluttering
is damn hard work -
hammering, head foremost
against transparent barriers
that keep me from the heat
somehow felt by faith or memory -
so real it turns
my tears to steam;
flailing with words
like babies' fists
at the universe
as if this gibberish
were an incantation, prayer,
a song to wake the dead
- one right note
to shatter glass
and let me in
to my dream
of burning,
burning.