In many a crowded room,
filled with serpentine questions,
fictions form our second skin.
I feel those establishment hisses
in the liquored language of cities
are filled with towering conquests
built upon foundations of smoke.
And I feel the distance of continents,
As I listen to a litany of seasoned speeches.
Sweetened with heroics, spiced with drama
and bittered with the woes of privilege.
And I wonder...
In the brief silences between us,
Beyond these elaborate orchestrations,
If we know each other at all
or if we care to.
For with each passing day
it seems that the pressures
of conformity are pale against
the void of not being true.