Metallic

A gong is struck
in the temple of a dream

signaling
change.

On the bare stage
of a bare room,

some that are not there, come.
Others not there, go.

While we in the audience
assume new positions, ideas.

Like a spear, the sound travels
through the night

and next day—reverberates
still—a subtle difference

more felt than heard,
but distinctly.

Some

Some straightforward
yes and no

followed by
some circuitous.

Flimsy partitions
inserted.

New compartments created.

A repositioning
of the old line, as in
which side are you on?

Some dead
and some living

remixed.

A shade too green
or purple.

Their faces
colored wrong.

 

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