We live in a chicken coop:just enough holes to see the light,just enough room to make us staywithin prison walls — no real windows —all too high up, all too small.
Two by two, I, next to youIn this manufactured cool condition.Decked like dominoesForward facing, backward breaking intoAnonymity like the comfortOf an old sleeping Tee.
My window makes no difference;the blinds compressed,tightly bound,hanging dirty at the top,I see nothing beyond for me.