On Reflection

because a box is a box: humans are cultivated
into said box without choice or clarification, specimens
only existing—as in: (you—i—us). flesh & frame—
restricted bone matter comprising a box reluctant
not to be a box. but nurtured inside the box, let’s say
form which is shaped by & indigenous, to, the box &
the creator of the holy box—only leading to another
question about, of course, the infamous box—form
turns deceitful inside the box like any [thing] caged,
leaning to a non-empathetic approach steeped in revolt
—is judas in waiting. note: the box is not universal
nor the universal. whatever hopes of otherworldliness
lies in the box itself. the box will not elongate, dissolve
or vanish without reaction to an action & here within
lies problem of perspective as in—there is none—zero.
along time’s continuum, color, too, is encouraged
for the sake of the construction of the box, which
is precious as flickering light, but cannot be verified since
darkness is the original concept of all things human.

Randall Horton, "On Reflection." Copyright © 2018 Randall Horton. Used by permission of the author for PoetryNow, a partnership between the Poetry Foundation and the WFMT Radio Network.
Source: PoetryNow (2018)