Common Margin

Kneeling, born and bred, at the foot of an edge

Prostrated, upbraided, tilting over in ritual free fall

Deconstruction broadcast in speeches and songs,

from magnets’ opposing poles

Withering supply, flippant recourse,

there were days when the summation worked,

and future paths outstripped

the stunning cruelty from which they were laid

But the sun chafed the plastic smog,

an amorphous view guided its path,

the margins’ present retrograde was splayed

in shaken sand beneath its glass

Churning from the inside, the sight

of those who’ve lain in near constant

rippling tension, in fraying exhibition,

exploited, their plight across brazen wire

Meanwhile, in common margins alight,

mercurial shifts spontaneously contrived

gears aground, a combustible dawn breaks,

then collapses against itself

Questions aren’t unasked nor dignified,

they’re painted on the cave walls

in their stark painful context, frozen

in exhibition of their endorsement

MM  2/17