Touch numbing thought

Time; its brittle bones lie motionless before my eyes.

Never a pure room, always interposition.
Flies everywhere.

Where is it that I can be - absorb -
yet not feel the cold
Sting of people's being
breaking timely bones in front of me?

Cracks, snaps,
Buzzing
from aloof maladroits stampeding towards me
Like crazed pachyderms.

Always growing, frequenting time.
Like office blocks now.

Order interrupting thought.

Here is routine, embrace it or live in a cave, isolated by solitude.

If I could inhabit that cave, leave those fearsome towers, I would.

But that cave lies
in the jungle.
Where Flies
stalk their prey.