I pulled alongside to your life,
with scarce an interview
As I was passing through a mind,
you wandered through mine too,
and almost slipped unnoticed, but,
your tripping held my grip,
as endings caught a nervous laugh,
beginnings planned their trip.
Yes, there we were at Windowland,
a clearly better place,
where all folk glance onto the world,
that outward inner space,
and just a while in captive time,
I viewed you family,
identical to mine in fact,
Except they could not see.
But there, a portrait, via film
to decorate a shelf,
I tried but failed to find a smile,
your day to day lacked wealth.
But who could tell this static show,
dunked thick in grimes café,
was watching out for you and yours
a talisman foray.
Surroundings stole me for a while,
with plastic flowers and cloth.
Math’matic squares of cutlery,
no spangled, bangled, froth,
set out an army fashion corp,
each victim glazed but full,
sat staring into High Road hell,
not ready for its pull.
I brushed the doorway out, at speed,
and left their frozen time,
a silent dip in ancient ways,
a scene of gothic crime,
I think they spoke, well maybe not,
snaps shut and saves what’s left of sense,
and spirit worlds, behind.