let Alice live
in a world where this is;
won't find a sieve.
it isn't this one.
you could stand on your head
reciting Poetry here:
rose window splendid
and they'd still walk around you
on the thronging sidewalks.
here's where children get apprenticed early;
I thought we'd passed that by!
only to reason and applied science or embedded
as working machine until they're broken down
and that's all they're good for or else, unhoned,
daring to walk alone, with thoughts all on their own
ridiculed by trending administrators
breaking us all down into TEAMS;
the recruiters who stalk by night
and broad daylight fetching
deleting the dreamers from the scene.
the solitaries. the saints.
hey new pans for old
no breaking the mold
with anything quaint.
shredding all documents
lumened in gold.
Red Roses To Paint.
mary angela douglas 3 april 2016