A poem that will bring meaning to our empty spaces. Where do you go to be alone?
I come here, when the specter of the past
Is no longer visible because it proved
Too slow, crowded by a future too fast
In its approach that it rushes by
Without stopping to be lived.
I come here, when the streets are filled
With disasters funneled down each one,
Pushing acceptance before them, making
Every sidewalk a construction zone,
All possibilities of rescue in the ruins.
I come here, when self-importance turns
To a fascination of the absurd condoning
Absurdity in the face of injustices strewn
About like casualties at a puppet show
So that few know how secure they are.
I come here, when rooms have congested
With the letters of conversants turned
Into flattened words by their co-dependents,
While the buildings’ ardent functionaries
Insist to being blank witnesses of it all.
I come here, when there is no place left.
I come here, to be alone