i keep an iron box
locked up tight in the basement
it is full of every dark
it is full of every dismal
the envy of Pandora
sometimes in the nights
i hear its haunting howls
turn on more lights
and pull up the covers
a wool and cotton armor
against the leaking disease
from its corroded corners

there must be light
but not for me
maybe a mirror i will be
reflect the sun
to everyone
but never warm myself
only undone

cold as silver lined glass
cold as my iron box
cold as a black hole
that jets forth energy
for the rest of creation
keeping nothing for it’s empty self
never seen except for its effect
on the ones around it