Wax

step inside a ball of red wax
heated by a neural sun
you slip in easy, amused
by your surrogate womb and
dine on the things inside awaiting you
grapes, oranges, ham hocks, all wax, of course
and soon you are wax as well
breathing wax, eating, sleeping, dreaming wax
that cools and hardens with the
setting sun, trapping you in red,
but who will you blame?
the sun for setting?
wax for waxing soft
then hardening?
curiosity for inviting
you to a ball of wax to
wax in wax till a
new sun finds you