Above The Glass Floor

Corpses march in my footprints
on the other side of this glass floor,
and the decay is grotesque victory.

They whisper my words back to me,
and fashion them as poison fangs
that threaten downcast eyes.

Who ever hears intentions
without the crossed wires
of a philanderer's scrutiny?

Not these six hundred titanium selves,
with their unchaste resolve to procure
and squander, and be praised for it!

Yet I should not be blind
to the shards of transparency
that keep me buoyant in life,

for corpses march in my footprints
on the other side of this glass floor,
and I am no titanium self.

I am one,
learning that honest vulnerability
can step without smashing.

I am one,
thankful for this tier of existence
that I do not control.


Written mid August 2012.

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