Canned Heat

Sealed sunrises kept inside that container

an fiery balm to sooth such aching muscles,

it promised to revive, rejuvenated and restore

the death of taunt, lean tissues.

 

Wasn’t able to warm a heart

stabbed and sliced by life,

couldn’t prevent time from withering

throbs that turned to soft tremors

barely able to keep their beat.

 

There was the illusion,

that moment of pretense in the ointment

where for a few seconds

all the body’s sagging softness

didn’t feel like some prelude

of a cadaverous rehearsal.

 

Artificially inseminated immortality

made the cemetery seem so far away

and with the lid open

it was buried under the wintergreen aroma.

 

Worked wonders with inspiration

let the warmth induced lost horizons

until the cold faded the fabrication,

restored briefly with the help of pain killers

before sunset sucked away the fantasy.