The paint is flaking off the walls
even though they keep on getting taller,
and out the window in the street
the only thing besides the heat
is a couple notes from the piano
in the main room drifting out
beyond the barriers we breach
when we are all wore out of
being with ourselves.
We sort the past along our shelves
to keep us all reminded of the times when
we were different, and the places
that we occupied were like the kinds
of a castles where the stone walls
wouldn’t break away for nothing.
She was something though the way she
walked around like almost everything
she saw was on her side. I want to be
there too across the gap to a better view
where all the statues commemorate nothing
but their makers and the ever present flaws
in their design.

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