Tuesday, January 1, 2013


Miles of carpet
To the end of narrow corridors; I turn
To face waves of
Flooring unfold before me, an ocean
Of begrimed pink, washed patterns

I slither through the passages, swoosh by intermittent   
Side-openings; inside, limp workers in their cages silently
Gawk forward
Their pale eyes fixed on monitors

They do not notice me writhing by their thresholds, lint
Clings to my scales, small pieces of my flesh
Adhere to the coarse carpet; left behind as I
Hurry over the uneven surface.
The robotic sound of printers
Spewing out text-filled sheets, trails behind me


I carry on and turn a sharp corner
The pain is not important, now hurry,
Air is running out! 
I zigzag between occasional feet crossing the floor
They do not see me

I pause and wait in the shadows

The heavy door finally whines on its hinges
I narrowly escape
Its swinging weight, and up the stairs I scrabble
The cold of the concrete steps is easy on me now  

The roof.  At long last. 

Crossing the wide
Surface with a thumping heart
Peering over the edge to the street below;
Cars, pedestrians, voices, occasional sirens
Above, the sky.  Clear of clouds.  Here I can rest my
Lowly self, and drink
Delicious air, wishing for wings
To sprout out of this body
I lean over the ledge and steal
Another look down to the street before taking a
Leap over the rim, and then at once I
Am in the air, the wide-open air

Soaring to meet the gleaming skies


  1. I'm glad you enjoyed it! More to come ...

  2. wonderful!
    please explaine: they "see me naught"
    in my mind i see your grainy photos form years ago comeing to life

    keep on!

    1. The narrator feels invisible, as underdogs usually do.

      Interesting that it made you think of my photography; I do strive to bridge my visual and lingual arts with my text.