Big white room, Hung with frames.

Cell windows looking out on a frozen world,

The poor souls who pick a pose

Create a good impression.

The real things are outside the frame

On the otherside of the wall.

Trying to capture the ephemeral merely achieves it.

Big white room. Full of people.

Holding wine glasses and conversation

Laughing like the slide of gravel

Down the face of a shovel.

Finding only mirrors in the frames.

Unsatisfied and unaware that

They are what it’s all about.

The joining of the dots

The coloring in, inside the line,

Finds you gasping breathless in

The panic attack of a reciprocating tomorrow.

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