and you, with your fabricated accent
running blindly for the door, for the next room
for a one way flight to greener ground.
did you take your shoes off and greet the grass?
was your fate abandoned in respiration
now rowan, now cedar, now barley wild?
sputtering madness took you as its own
(for poetry makes nothing happen)
left you brittle in darkened corner rooms
almost feline you curled about yourself
sighed, and slank away.