Folding the laundry,
I’m an ant under the concrete not so old,
an overwhelming pad, and I am tiny.
Moving through oceans of dirt,
finding the solidified gray
less tainted than my shirts,
I want to chuck my socks
beyond desolation’s border,
but my robotic kinetics continue
as the carpet is entombed
by piles of chaos.
The other ants left long ago,
leaving behind a stadium,
a tribute to a gaudy culture.
I merely pray, longing for light,
waiting for Mozart to penetrate
my conglomerated malaise of
cements, stones, desolation and fears.
stillfugue 
#1 by Evelyn on October 1, 2011 - 8:20 pm
“I merely pray, longing for light,
waiting for Mozart to penetrate
my conglomerated malaise of
cements, stones, desolation and fears.”
sigh. so good.
#2 by Carl on October 3, 2011 - 9:07 pm
I like those lines now better than when I wrote them. I might keep them.