She died many times. She died

in her head. Her soul died. The long

waves of her spirit died. Her heart

was a statue in room no one entered.

One night she went with her friends

to see the loud rock band whose

members dressed like zombies.

A man, the guitarist, wore a tattered

business suit. One gray foot dragged

the floor of the stage; his shoe, pointless,

lay turned on its side. She stood and watched

until pain rose up, a horror-movie

demon. The demon took her into

his lap while the music blazed into her eye

sockets, and he dug his nails into

the different parts of her body.

A latch clicked and she fell below

the earth, unlit by sons of men.

God gives riches, bread, green things, light.

But there is no ointment for this falling.