Poor Marlene

These are the birds  
that do not fly  
my compulsion to write  
huddled on this bough  
wings clipped
and frozen in time  
baring the mask  
I dare not defy  
For I shall not play your  
social game  
competing with  
I’ll read yours  
if you’ll read mine  
or juggle my heart  
through some maze of minds  
when my soul knows  
it’s safer  
to snuggle inside  
like poor Marlene  
watching the snow  
create a silence  
of its own