LIVING ON A LIGHTED STAGE
Well maybe you know the rest. Approaches
the unreal. I can't afford to sign the check that
writes the digits. But I can afford the feel.
If I had my feet, I'd be running again as fast
as I could, away. This cement-block fortitude,
however, is a heavy task and keeps me set here.
Looking back at memory - the light is in the
closet I can't enter. Did someone just leave it
on, or is there really a person in there at center?