i was there for that painful hardening
when your light went out like a votive
candle and you folded up your wings.

so obscene the way cameras were flashing
and the crowd pushed to the forefront
though you were roped off by velvet.

despite that we spoke in hushed tones,
for we could still hear your taut, rimpled cackles.
we thought you were imploding.

and like in all the b-movies, you enjoyed that fetal
calamity, your joints sliding backwards, locking,
interconnected network of chains:

because the vague semblance of
a heart you had

the red fist,
a smoked ruby,
the auspice of temptation

needed to be
shackled (wherever it was)
down there.