The secrets were solitary confinement
though his were no darker
than those pen and paper generals
with homeward denial.
He walked the halls slowly,
with desperate perfection,
offering success in shackles
to silver spoon dropouts.
This fortunate son was knotted up
in doors behind crowded apartments
projecting futures out windows
and trickling down economics.
A play was written for his absent professors
about marks on dusty white blackboards
while their lectures snuck out
and breathed in a cigarette.
Forcing lines and boundaries, pushing folds and tearing envelopes. He kept a bag packed in the back seat for the miles traveled if he ever got caught.
- July 14, 2014. -
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