AND JUST HOW DOES ONE
DEFINE ‘AWKWARD’ ANYWAY?
How many times, with
tin-buttons ‘just pressed’,
We enter this vault,
so completely un-dressed;
We stand, then
descend; exhaling out fate:
Detaching our cares,
our dislikes, and our hates…
Echoed by brass;
warmed by fanciful grates.
Then, by intentional
gazes we caught,
Avert our own eyes, crossing
blank items off;
Forsaking all mercy,
all logic, all sense;
The elevator sways with
a stern recompense.
One’s image hence bends
In this odd, stark
relief
Distorted by fury… applied
by gold leaf;
As phantom bells softly
tick three levels off,
As newcomers enter
and children part coughs,
The elevator shudders,
then shyly sings soft.
We hurl out of daydreams,
As never before; this
ride grows much faster
Through tightly
sealed doors;
We ponder those
folks-
Who’ve been newly dropped off . . .
(The elevator groans
and starts pacing aloft).
Ten-floors below: what
DO their hearts hold?
Imaginary lives, a
performance unfolds;
Yet, tiring
lassitude and shadowy clashes
Still muster faint praise
for the idols and masses.
Yes, how many times,
with tin buttons ‘just pressed’
We enter life’s
vault under terms of duress?
Caught in the
maelstrom of ‘been there before’
Provisional lessons
court
“Permanent doors”.
Yet, multitudes yearn
for faint folly, not reason;
Secrets lay barren,
but NEVER in season;
All of this motion
just taken in stride:
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