Friday, 1 February 2013

Bread and Butter

What happens before the act begins?

In these glass halls of precision


Why do we struggle to enter


The gaping global fraud?


I do not belong here


Their eyes are empty, glassy


What happens before you talk with clarity?


Why are you afraid to be?


What happens before the act begins?


Do you ever wonder?


Do you ever imagine?


The sweeper clearing out your dust


The man putting up those balloons


The electrician who fixes the air conditioning--


Men who will never know how it feels


Cool air in the room, while the sun glares outside,


The beeping sounds of door IDs.


I am lost here forever


I want to belong to the forest


Where trees teach me to be still.

No comments:

Post a Comment