Transmutation

She’s like a piece of spider web
floating on the surface of the pond
and she is gone again before I look
to see her and remember where I aught to be
as something almost permanently caught.
This thing we all are held within
is changing like how dancers in a stage show
pull their costumes over costumes behind curtains
in the dark where they can laugh at all
the people paying money just to watch
them all have fun.
I am against the rules that say to us
we cannot run,
including in such places as the pool,
because what else could be our
basic form of freedom?
The three kids who left their homes
at night, to sneak into the balcony
at the gentlemen’s club,
would never be seen again.
Aside from their bikes
that were only recovered
with a giant junkyard magnet
hovered over a pond.
A sort of murky transmutation
of the great beyond, along with
the ever growing list of tricky questions
we are too afraid to answer.

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