The Door
some days are too long, too draining, too sad
some days last...
frozen
something missing,
blame is all you get
stop screaming,
the outside world isn't listening.
this door is closed.
the judge himself is not man enough
to judge himself-
he worries about
unrelenting judgments
that began in the New York Hills
the eastern door when
you bit your lip as a guarantee
inner turmoil was real to you,
the wall is real to you,
and you can’t get out
this door is closed.
stay a little bit longer on the ground-
do whatever your blue collar working-class hypothesis tells you.
your roots
are shatterproof,
life on the street is harsh
harsherer than life in the joint
and every five seconds somewhere in the world, someone goes blind
and can’t find the door.
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