Screens

The glass and the elements of the screen
Cake me and make me to who i am
In a childish coming
In it slides
Copying, ridiculing, miniature
Jesters head upon his stick
The not-quite-point of a gimmick

Tumble like pocket gunk in the wash
I see it in the fixture-phrame
of bad ideas and locked-in cues
Who knew i'd find a solace here
In the pews
My smallness of piecemeal-patterns
Replaced with a smallness of spirit
A calm reassumes

Oh my! How did it get so dark?!
And oh! How did i let so far?
The camps of homeless heartless wanderers
The wasted eatings of bored meanderings
They call me to them
They speak sotto voce
(They know the way by this age)
Real crowds of brain cells
Gather in surprise
Holding lighters to bardic stage
And forget the blackened skies