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TuesdayPixiePoems
This is a poem for the inner trying to get out For yearnings and desperation Surrounded by cardboard furniture we sit With silence And serious expressions Business-like. Perhaps I will set down a lyric after lyric About the clicking pen Scribbling over paper About due process Convention Eyes avoiding eyes The building of a wall. Our windows all have shutters now We begin to close them A whispered Bridge the gap Is stifled Pushed away Drowned In proper formality Small talk barely satisfies. Suits, Mr Smith, Suits. Let us be quirky Oh fellow human clone of mine! Let us dance!
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Sep 21, 2014
Sep 21, 2014 at 6:20 PM UTC
Suits, Mr Smith, Suits
This is a poem for the inner trying to get out For yearnings and desperation Surrounded by cardboard furniture we sit With silence And serious expressions Business-like. Perhaps I will set down a lyric after lyric About the clicking pen Scribbling over paper About due process Convention Eyes avoiding eyes The building of a wall. Our windows all have shutters now We begin to close them A whispered Bridge the gap Is stifled Pushed away Drowned In proper formality Small talk barely satisfies. Suits, Mr Smith, Suits. Let us be quirky Oh fellow human clone of mine! Let us dance!
The format (in the beginning, then I got carried away) was inspired by an excerpt from the introduction to Janet Frame's 'the Goose Bath'.
#convention#suits#formality
Written by
TuesdayPixie
New Zealander
Sep 21, 2014
Sep 21, 2014 at 6:20 PM UTC
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