All our worldly concerns like “dress to impress” Aren’t as compelling as one might Suggest. All of our tongues from which flavors burn Cool for a moment if only to Atest. We love ourselves, but is there room For anybody else?
We wonder and we wander, so conflicted, so Consumed. Is there room? Is there room for space beneath a blockade? Is there room for a resource once we’ve failed to trade? Is there room for a skylight? Is there room for a window? Is there room for a fence? For a garden? A train? Is there room for a crashing—even room for a plane? For a little apprehension in discreetness, pretention refined? For uncertainty to seize and sketch a new line?
Is there room for a golf course with no goals to score? Is there room for a surplus? A healer? A sore? Is there room for transitions, abrupt and alive? Is there room for a smooth one to sweeten the hive? Is there room for my words not to speak, but to be? Is there room for an actress? A worker? A me?
(Is there room for me? Could you please save room for me?)
Is there room for my cruelty, my ugliness, dreams? Is there room for my whispers, my slyness, my screams? Is there room for expressions that paint out my face? Is there room for the wisdom of the ambigui—vague?
Is there room for a melting of gray? And the paintings of landscapes To blur, glisten, fade?
Is there room to be together? Is there room to be alone? Is there room for distant travels or an inconsistent home? Is there room to be a “know-it-all”? Is there room to be agnostic? Is there room to be the dullest point? Is there room to cool the caustic? Is there room to stand untainted? Is there room to take abuse? Is there room to fake it ‘till you make it’? Is there room to praise misuse?
Is there room?
Is there room for spoken bits of hardships, easiness unsaid? Is there room to catch a net of life? Is there room to render dead? Is there room to illuminate the sinner Or to cultivate the sister? Is there room to watch time’s thickness grow? Is there room to question, room to know?