The moment before contact when electricity arcs green across the closing light switch

The moment as the match-tip phosphorus begins to lyse into flame

The moment where the blue extension of an welder’s torch catches and spreads from the source

The moment between deciding to touch the exposed prongs still in an outlet and doing it

The moment just after releasing the glass toward the brown tile floor

The moment when you can feel the paper slip between edges of skin

The moment ….

//

Caged in matchbook

lives of chrome and

thick green glass, the arc

of bodies lends an

escape route we must

take. Must take. Must

take. Must take. We

must take. We must

escape. In the moment

before the circuit

closes, electricity arcs

across it anyway. In

the moment before the

pain, the paper slides

through the skin. In the

moment between deciding

to touch the exposed

prongs, still in the

outlet, and doing it,

there is a peace; a

zen of the world, a

knowledge of the

completeness of destiny

and yet you and I are

more a match before the

phosphorous tip lyses

into flame, where

in striking it, one is

still unsure if it will catch.

//