The Open Matt Project

Well Trained

We gather up, get up, get over
near the doors, don't shove, mind
the still shuffling and no peeking
around all of us contained
gathered with but not on purpose

I smell marshmallows, here!
fluffing the stench of worn public use
sniffing around its source
a bloated child-man accessorized
what an unlikely source of pleasure

A poor man's face burned clean off
he owns a cheek from chin to hairline
and a blank eye to keep it company
tapping with his stick
his ears are pristine

a stolen view of a breast
nestled there in a crescent of black
like a babe in swaddlin'
soft and pink and crying for attention
without a sound

but the doors open and we move
in a snapshot our variety is one
for the moment
we are dispersed
and we go out

Posted by Matt at September 7, 2006 09:23 AM