Some touching lovestone
has moved the surface again
but you know it’s not for you –
the echoes play around the bars of your cage
Quarantined for your own good
we’ve seen you, on visits
and we know what you will do
long before it’s ever occurred to you to do it
The door will not open –
you can dream of passing through
but you will get hungry
wake up
Almost like phantoms now
the shapes that move within someone else’s movie
they linger and pass
and night folds in to fill their space
You click click the television
but you know these stories so well
you expect royalties
Another chunk of sleeptime draws near
but your straw bed
is not your friend
Ashley Bovan 