An Idea

I talk with an inhale so not to taint my words with my own waste
While the very retrospective teaches me small favours.
Who are we to understand?

He counts 14 steps from his stance
It lies before him, an identical sight.
But somewhere along the 14 steps, he has crossed a line.

I do not thank the victims of theft overseas
But I do take the time to thank the man who has robbed me before my very eyes.
His smile the most white. His eyes, a deep black.

When did the priceless become subjective to the literal?
How far did I go before I glanced backwards?
Separated; condoned;
Frustrated; compressed.

It seems like home feels out of place.
Like the blind museum curator.
Like the homeless hypochondriac.

He bows a rugged cello found in the remnants of a fatal fire,
In it, and him, the world finds a forgotten beauty.
He loses all memory of the perished and burned.

She screams “No más!” to a personified devil,
And the clock on her wrist ticks. The clock in her heart expires.
With her final breath, she is rebellious. She is young.

When did the priceless become subjective to the literal?
How far did I go before I glanced backwards?
Separated; condoned;
Frustrated; compressed.