Smeared with fingerprints and
    Caked with dust embedded in
    decaying brick walls of old stores.
    Each surmounting year with scores
    Of hopeful children, smearing
    Their runny noses on the cold glass
    Splashed with color, painting the sunlight
    Looking down on mourners
    and celebrators of life
    Dimming the bright
    Mirrored giants keep us out
    We aren’t supposed to know
    Shielding us from cubicles and suits
    Forcing wanderers to look up from below.
    It’s a screen playing out
    The realest of stories
    Funny, like silent films
    When the punch lines were literal;
    People silently talking, walking about.
    Cover it up with curtains or blinds

    But when I’m forced behind,
    I still would rather be inside,
    Or outside.
    Blurred with screens or bars,
    Abandoned and boarded up.
    it keeps me out, and in.
    I can’t walk through it;
    It’s nothing like a gateway
    But there’s nothing I’d rather
    Be behind to waste the day
    Unlocking the constraints
    Shattering the glass
    Letting in, out
    The opportunity to pass.


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