Because Poem by shimon weinroth

there's a fly on the wall,
plastic paint lines the hall
lived in corridors, body smells infatuate
mists of metabolisms fog the brain
habituate, castrate the creative

mundane fly on the wall, go away,
come another day, for the muse to amuse
light clings to the dermis, head lights
peer out, at ticket takers, seating thoughts
row on row stand up sit down

lie on the ground, stacked in piles
symphonic arrangement, synchronic tunes
seep and sip the deep,
scream next, cry, why not first