In the Darkened Foyer

In the Darkened Foyer There you are again. Walking this darkened foyer, and that carpeted hallway, Eyeing the sunken-eyed dancer who forgets she’s not alive; She’s just passing by all the sickness of dissipated humanity, Wrapped in a single walk, and a solitary stretcher, With a squadron of crucifixes affixed to the skin tags, Applied with holy powders on these ancient, prayer-eaten walls, These never-ending white walls that stretch before us, Telling stories of prolonged death spasms, and postponement, Of human decline in the face of the hopeful ones, And the healing ones, with shocked knowing grins, And the comatose ones, who know when to at last wake up; Wake up! I say to the dead ones, the digested ones, long interred! Now is the time to move your monuments and your dirt. Now is the time to complain to the clock, the cold twitching clock, That now holds no eternal sway in either direction for you or me! Or all the dead ones, lying over there on solitary stretchers, Under white sheets, in the darkened foyer.