When I was older and lived on the anonymous side of town, I'd find a private hidden room in a forgotten building and simulate a multitude of escapes, but as the years grow younger, the perimeter shrinks. The resources dwindle. And the chair stiffens for the man made now of loose belts who begs, "Adorn me with one more place to dream of cages."
We have an expression in Spanish, which translated means, “the fever is not in the sheets” We can change beds, change homes, change towns, but the fever remains. I think some cages work that way too. Very thought-provoking poem.
LikeLiked by 2 people
Fantastic expression – though it swings a bit hard on the interior/exterior pendulum between consciousness and the world it inhabits or glues together. A separation I’m not certain exists. Regardless, that expression seems quite useful as a shortcut. Thank you!
LikeLike
Wow. Speechless
LikeLiked by 2 people
Thank you!
LikeLike
Little nightmarish, that. The fever is not in the sheets, indeed.
LikeLiked by 3 people
I’m pleased it’s just an -ish. Thank you!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Beautiful work. I especially like that phrase “the anonymous side of town.”
LikeLiked by 1 person
ššš
LikeLike
This piece speaks to me if the way we might try to escape the place we are within our own mind, whether that be good or bad, or simply a place we want to move along from.
Thank you for sharing.
LikeLiked by 1 person
That is very much at the heart of it! ššš
LikeLiked by 1 person