you want to travel blindly
I will not be held like a drunkard in the true mad north of introspection.
Visitors tip-toe past my doorway, snickering into limp collars. Luckily, most of the humiliation perished shortly after the opera. You’ve changed your names several times by now and no matter how hard I try, I cannot kiss a disappearing wall. Bald husbands laugh as they clutch heaven’s iron rings in ragged slacks and beaten loafers. I am a lost soul meant to wander the marble, tin can cries stumbling in the shadows behind me. With no direction and no motivation I can’t see what you can see and you can’t hear the circus between my ears. His voice drips from the speakers and lays quietly on my pad of paper, and although it is covering the first two lines, I blanket it with a hanky and continue writing my poem.
Nobody, not even the rain…