What a strange, warped world, where knowing better is just not the way. Being stupid and slow will save you, being sharp and aware just damn you. Whatever protocols keep these walls standing are built from absurdities and flimsy “certitudes”. Where is the wholsesome place we need? We bruised souls unfit for combat. They herd us in, lock the gate and think we’ll heal. Now why do they believe that cut off from life is how to deal? These brutish beds, yellow walls, airless windows…is that the answer? Rather than my cocoon, painstakingly built, feather by feather, plush by plush. That’s where I need to be.

The whole world

Is on its head

Pupils taking care

Of teachers’ kids

The sick taking care

Of the young and free

 

To keep me from the lake

Is cruel torture.

To see it glisten from afar

Watch its waves beckon,

Waver in the weak winter sun

Is it necessary?

 

Leaving me to sing songs

Behind fast glass

Is making my soul weary.