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.
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