it is in the places you don't see--
behind eyelids,
behind the doors of dark rooms
and long homebound commutes.

these are the places where only the heart of hearts can be held--
unguarded,
solitary.

it's a glass antique. fragile.
out from its smooth wooden case...
a pine box with creaking hinges,
the inside encased in velour
protecting its contents.

an integument,
the automatic marionette.
programmed by social animal instinct,
well versed in the alien dialect
of humanity.

this dance in rhythm quells the committee.

alas, inside i pray:
dear sweet agony and misery,
you have given me life--
moved my blood about.
i repent and vow my allegiance.

this man,
a weak being
behind the puppetry,
impatiently waits for his impending demise...
grousing about,
knowing the karmic bounty paid,
the subsequent disappointment pushed upon the masses
if his mission,
though capricious
was aborted early...






[please let silence be my only eulogy]

NB @ 3:44 PM

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