the quick wit
and sharp tongues
the fast fire
and loose guns
it's hard to keep up
with clicking clocks
with pennies in freefall
and tightening knots
you'll never be invited
with cards neatly laid
into the smoking room
where the deals are made
I understood you, though
you spoke clearly
as you quoted C.S. Lewis
and divine mystery
you told me once,
not to wear masks
lies, pretence,
are not for us
at what point it's us,
at what point it's them, though
I do not know
as every circle, every contact
every bit of info
pushes you further out
from people, as a whole
you try to make your food --
your food is made
you try to make your bed --
your bed is made
just one thing left to make
a land divorced from people
a people divorced from land
to wed again
a city swept by dust
swearing muffled by storm
faces on the tram, to forget
or to transform
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