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.
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.