6B

In a room stacked with steel 
And shielding aroma, he chose

A Lilliputian cell. 
The subject of confinement 
Was not to be seen, but
Death and fear searched the air
In two behind the thick metallic scent—
Covered by the thick paint 
Of metronomic apathy—

Our protection, 
Our blindfold.

He took his ring off, but
The sonorous rhyme swept his mind nevertheless—
Water and metal felt cold against his skin—
His taste momentous 
Against his tongue. He wondered 
If knives would send a similar chill.

(Probably not—

Probably made bitter
With its sanguine stain.)

Dale Chou
2003-03-29