Yeah, I know the Wilder whispers
in your head take precedence,
especially when the walls are
closing in
in your head, where no one can see
them,
unless they look at your
busy fingers
and frantic eyes.
Life while we live
it
doesn’t talk to us
until
after the train has
left whatever station
we have pretended it idles at -
waiting for the porter
to help us board.
No poet either…