Night Stage Poem by Zyw Zywa

How did we come in?
Can we just peg out again
to the right there, and
are the WCs behind this door?

Are we here or do we play it?
The city is asleep, are we asleep
when everyone lives?

Can we touch each other
and let each other blush, or are we
shadows on the empty scene
of our alienation?

What are we doing here, in this scenery
of deceased peace? Are we dreaming
of last masterstrokes?

The sandwich and the drinks are real
the round room is not a stage
it throws a lighthouse light
into empty streets -- a beacon

that attracts night-moths
warning everyone
to stay away from here