Red Room

Had I been crushed by existence
Thinking steadily of the great secret
(Was it really just a key?) buried someplace

(dim Kansas) within a little Gordian plot
Where the Lamb of Lords will take his leave
Of absence down a narrow street after a rooster

With its head Chopped off?
The world is disappearing
Death is holding its breath
Opening its greatest umbrella

Go ahead, you on my crutches
Step out from behind the curtain
With a radio gasping in your mouth
Once more, I will try not to laugh