This world we live in
Seems to conspire against subjectivity
by illuminating a hallowed path to fame
as the only way to have a name.
Once in the cold hard light of day
this way to recognition
is a hall of mirrors
reflecting the exterior
but discouraging interior reflection.
The bright lights chase all the shadows away
Those shadows that have kept me company before.
I have forgotten them. I have forgotten myself.
I am locked in a template, on the wrong side of the mirror
reacting in ways that are not my own.
push empty prams under desolate skies...
to face a chaotic street
with the empty harmonies of cars
and the reticulation pumps of
grey fountains in city Places
Floating with the same grit
that you hold between your teeth.