words and worlds  of ink await
at the horizon....mirages
hovering , everthere

and yet,

I walk this barren waste
of ordered sensibility

i wait in queues
I pay my dues
twice and once more
for measured, measure
I scrawl and crawl
and stand upright

each day I rise
each day
i imagine flight
but to this ground
i am pegged

my heart begs, for freedom

my soul suffers, for joy

my head pounds, in rythm
to the syncopathic beat

of the rats running marathons
up and down this street.

my measure is paid.

my tightrope is strung

must be careful,
how i step,
mindful the gap,

otherwise

i will end up.... hung...

wrapped about, in rubber bands.
playing to the crowd
as they throw silver coins
and laugh and gape and roar  
and the words that tumble
from their slackened jaws
stripe my back,
claw my pride
...until
i am no more...