Pocketful of souls

Pocketful of souls

yet never a kind word

the whole world blind

to the miseries of rain

the unseen man

forever in the debt of

a fogged up mirror

the world is slightly easier

behind a window pane

you hide, I hide, and the

rest of us play catch

to cruel mirages

and hefty hindsight.

The mirror in the back

is not much help when

you are always looking ahead

twice towards the road

once into the oblivion

then the side mirror breaks

the change in your pocket scatters

world contracts, your rage

is suddenly your alpha

the window is thinning

walls grow bigger

and the men? They have

been here a long time

knitting and drinking

to the myths and truths

about machines and women.

Fools,

stuck in a chequers game.

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