Sunday, March 20, 2011

People

There are no other people
But the two of us
In this fully furnished shelter
You can boast back home
Is as huge as a house;
He is invariably away,
That leaves me
Often looking at my face
In the mirror
And imagining
Conversations with friends;
The floor is so spotless
You don't want to walk on it
The walls so white
You don't want to touch them
The air so clean and cold
You don't want to even breathe;
The others you pass on the corridor
Wear strange, unsmiling faces
Speak stranger tongues
Vanish into doors;
Outside there is only
The endless road
The sun
The occasional ghost car
And the wilderness
That devours your native song.

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