which of us has known his brother
which of us has looked into her father’s heart
which of us has not remained forever prison-pent
which of us is not forever a stranger and alone*
all these people
you are leaving
have another look at them
have another look in their eyes
just see
they are as alone
you are not alone
and those walking with the stars are dreamy as you are
praising pink moon
they pray for the good of all
and wait for someone who will offer them a hand
wait for someone who might understand
feeling the presence of each other
we still fumble in space
groping in blindness of our cells
the world of lit windows
in houses distant and close
the glow in her eyes
and what’s behind
you cannot see
and what’s behind mind of yours nobody ever sees
it’s just a black box where you are hidden
where everyone’s hidden
you are getting used to it
i’m getting used to it
Universe brought to a cranium
you are getting used to it
i know, we all are getting used to it
Universe reduced to a brain
forever prison-pent
but shall we ever free ourselves?
*these words are from the first paragraph of "Look Homeward, Angel" (1929), a novel by Thomas Wolfe
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