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