Cotton Space Poem by Carlos Gutierrez

This lamp is always shining,
It has never abandoned this dusty room.

The room is quite the size, though.
It is thirty kilometers and half a mile with three-quarters of a centimeter long,
And nine feet and thirteen yards with three cups of width.

The lamps shines dimly in the vast blankness.

It's a dark flame that burns atop.

Not a black one,
Just dark...

And hanging upside-right sideways from the wall,
Stands a man with crippled hands.

He's said to have lost all his senses at age two.

But somehow, in someway, he manages to feel the heat from the lamp;
He also sees the reflection of the flame's ember along side the cotton walls.

But I see nothing...
I feel nothing as well...

He points towards my left and horizontal point-of-view;
I am still unable to spot this 'lamp'.

He grabs my frozen hands, with his crippled one.
The texture feels abnormal,
Even to me.

I follow him,
Unconsciously...

Then he holds my face,
I stare at his blank eyes,
And hold them in place.


The image strikes with the power of a fist,

There's still nothing,
Just the cotton room all around.

I feel him though,
He hasn't left yet,
Not that there's some kind of exiting door anyways...

Maybe I'm the blind one,
Maybe I've lost everything I had that was never in my possession,
Or maybe, just maybe,
I have forgotten to open my eyes...