we enter again this house’s life. the dark columns we have constructed on the plateaus of ourselves are full. the gates are falling. the cups we have filled with deceits, lies and misunderstandings, they, too, are shivering, scattered like fouled engines rising against escape. we trace ourselves on the margins of the mirrors, fragmentary, jagged, cutting across lipsticked lines drawn around the framed reflections of the cities. people massing outside the bars, fuming, torturously frail demented. and these are our demons: brown barren earth, the lost touch of neighbors whose eyes avert in light like fine dust filtering in fire. remember, you are not alone in your leaving. we all enter this nightmare of living in which freedom to live has been confused with license to take and giving slides like a child on a swing forever floating up and up the air cut with the fever of legs thrashing in rhythm because somehow we know this madness dare not last forever, inhabiting the landscape of ourselves like still water in motion our bodies leaning towards each other bearing love.