Monday, April 16, 2012


I live in a closet. 
A closet made of glass. 
On the edge of a sidewalk,
centered in town.
Where eyes skim, but never see. 
Where silence escalates into something palpable.
Where faces peer as
footsteps ascend and fade.
and fade and fade and fade.
A coffee is compliance to a million questions
by bodies too familiar. 
The pharmacy
is oxygen for lies to exhaust.
Every action is oxygen.
To take, to breath
and steal.
Until you're left,
beaten into 
a closet made of glass. 

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