LONG LINES FOR
A SHORT WORLD
I sit around, discreet too, and remain
mostly silent. My world has its lateral
edges and I don't cross over. Being me
has all its labels attached. Not that I
understand, but damning with faint
praise seems to fit. Sexist me. Dubious
man. Unlearned one. Primitive. Oaf.
Insensitive Neanderthal. Flaming brute.
I'm all that and so much more.
-
I have adagios at my loom, and I dine
for late night sups with the kings and
ageless wonders of time. There's never
before been such merriment in a cage
like this. We keen before each other,
skirting; making long, long lines for
a very short world.
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