Corbu

Crisp lines like razors to piece meal
the universe into a quilt of solid
deceptive forms; I think of you tonight,
Corbu, as your wings ebony tickle my senses.
I have lived my daily life as a dance
to ward against reason, a chakra against
its logical knives that would disect my ways
pin me and display me for doctors to understand.
And now as I look at these useful forms
surrounded by pilotes for heaven I am
standing like a concrete sculpture
a witness to the failing entropy of soul.
I thought to worship you.
I found you were not salvation.
Though my mind would subscribe to your
world of enamel and beating hearts,
I know that it is the light that gives shape
and it is the light that gives form.
In darkness there is nothing to see but more
of yourself and it is only more darkness,
Corbu, like you. Reason is insanity.