That Point in the Receiving Line When

In your eyes I hear angels humming absence down a dangled line of stepping stones
and touch points
and a blank white sheet encloses the place where words have withered or escaped
the malaise
which is a card house of actions in the retina of a maelstrom of extended hands

each hand stretched to what was consumed long ago as slight as soup as misplaced
simile defining
how you and why you and what you when the sun danced its erratic tango of small
stagger steps
masquerading perception and action became reaction and laughter in a dark theatre

as when the hero understands everything has been a joke a sham and death is simply

the void
which
humming
angels
fill.