When mystique and magic creeps through the door
the walls of the mind shiver and shake
for fearful they are that foundations will crack
and mind will be free to expand into more.
Oh, but they’re built to withstand the advance
of what surely is meant for the fairies, not me
but how strange the mind to give form and flight
to a smidgen and figment of imagination.
So I give to the fairies all the magic in me
and donate my mystique to empty air
and bend low, low, to stabilize walls
built high, high, to imprison the mind.
This is me and you, them, they,
born to be held like a prisoner, you see,
within the confines of reason and sense
hard and unyielding like bricks and mortar.
And I close for the sake of conformity
and lock against threats of vulnerability
because I know from the crumble and dust
love comes to fill up my … “lungs”!
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