The humans are out there taking their bows in the light where the world can see.
We are piled up,
cold and immobile on the floor as the green room light fills
Up our empty button eyes.
Our cardboard frames listen closely to the aching theater walls,
And to the chandelier,
Tired of holding its own weight.
We may not be destroyed.
Perhaps we will be kept in a room, overcome with mildew and moon:
Still folded over,
Still Bowing
From what I remember, it was born growing.
It was born hot, expanding, glowing,
And the people were made of gold
and of fire.
And it kept growing, it kept burning hot, bright,
"So I was in English class, right," said the kid, "and the bell rang, and while I was switching classes, I got super thirsty, so I stopped at the water fountain, but then I remembered that this fountain is out of order and the only other one is in
I walled myself in with paper three days ago. I used my old fashioned-blow torch to melt the door of my office shut, and pressed my desk and my chair up against it.
Comments
Log in or register to post comments.