sleeping in a glass box

watch out for the cross-eyed hunters,
who lived and will live in every year of history

oh yes! ask them to hear how fine the search is going
with their sharp gaze
piercing everything having lips and ears,
with their blood sloshing - almost foamy
with their pulse wafting every thought
in their designated area

see how well the search is going
they are watchdogs with hallway addiction
every shoestep is an adventure  to them
everyone is a passerby
the joy of whose sight is mistaken for insight
compassion is a forgotten note in their chant

what choice has a candle got before their breath
either booing or over cheering
enlightened tribe members

what choice have you got,
you in your glass box
with some greenery
and cool sweet water

your intuition is freaky to them
your attention cheap
oh what choice have you got
when cherishing is degrading

your admiration belittles you in their eyes
let alone causing joyful humility
but don't you ever despair
overlooked beauty in details might choke, shake
and awaken them
just like they choke everyone with their cruelty

oh yes! remembering the past could be as good news
as the possibility of knowing the future