the watcher

i am part of the gate. cold hard

rusted, keeping the prisoner

inside. i am just an outline...

disease..starting down so deep,

eating its way out. this is where it

begins: (secret captive sin)

in a single rod of the iron gate,

rusted and no longer serving its

purpose. i curve my posture,

veil the reflections of comprehension in eyes.

and breathe...and watch them

participate in the movement of

the play while i am welded into

the gate. to watch them marching

onward...i am just an outline..

travel onward through crevice of

shallow space catch a breath

crawl onward travel onward

though the crevice of shallow space

catch a breath crawl onward.

searing in this i die, in the openness

of wound. i am part of the

gate. i am cold, i am rusted. i am

the prisoner inside.