A wanderlust, drifting mime
lays on the stone.
How abhorrent to be alone.
We are, afterall, beloved.
In a prison cell we work
to the bone.
We’ve made it.
Oh, but how strange it feels.
There are no banners,
or orchestras, or flags.
We slip into the yellow afternoon
like a hidden fix.
Think quick, stitch on a smile.
We blend in with the furniture.
Sleepy old folks call me Virginia.
I almost feel amused.
How long until the next hapless limbo?
Our tired bulwark rests her haggard head.
it’s like hunting down a rabbit.
the stark fear in their eyes,
the metallic smell of lithium
underneath the moons of your nails