9/26/12


                 we are trapped
what would it be like

the fog rolling in from the coast
fluffy clouds on a warm day
a parade of bikes
clusters of walkers
air brisk in the chill of morning

but we are trapped
like mastroianni 
clawing at the windows
suffocating
desperate to escape
the little fiat car
crashing finally
into a brick wall of reality

we are trapped
by custom
by habit
by images
by freedom
never to escape til our dying day
our hands wrapped around 
the steering wheel of convenience
the cold hard wheel
we will never give up 
until it is pried 
from our cold, dead hands

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3 comments:

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