Monday, November 30, 2015


Included but remote – at arm’s length, my comfort zone.
Don’t we all take comfort in arm’s length?
Approached – but not touched
locked in our muffed prisons
where we believe we are safe from
prickles and scars. 

We breathe shallow, silently so no one knows
our hiding places. And eye contact
is a whimper of light which escapes
and is recaptured to be used again. 

We are wound tight in movement – sensory intercourse
with flat faces and choreographed voices.
These are our reality – characters
who manufacture life
so we can ignore our own.