This Space is Occupied
If this were an inventory I would be a small item of indeterminate
value
Visible but rarely noticed among the clamour of bright and shiny things
Half finished undertakings and their fluttering flags
A jumble of polished masks projects and plans
spitting and crackling on your tongue
Many tentacled aspirations the fantailed plumage of dreams
glossy wrapped smiles and exclamations
But this is no inventory: it is your life and mine and their brief
intersections
My pallid face receding right in front of you