From the inside

A system of boxes. A stretch

and measure for doing this one

thing. Live. Then all the other

fake measures; the misleading

ones that totter along to the

same end with variant degrees

of pain.

There’s a space by the exceptional

and it’s vacant. I don’t know

which box I’ll jump into next.

The boxes.

I keep avoiding them. Though

I’m sitting in one: the one that

keeps avoiding, fighting for that

exceptional space that is just a

box

ultimately

and nothing more.

Nothing exceptional.

Neither vacant nor spacious

Where is the way out?