Solid objects

 I walk here my new shoes hit the fiction pavement
I dream and forget images escape me
I wrap myself up in tangible things
fleeing from my own wonderful fantasies

Those that were a million miles from reality
My footsteps sobering me up
I'm trapped inside of repeat heftiness
The familiarity like blows against my face

I walk here across the long grass it is...
Longing to be cut by hard blades
What part of me needs chopping?
What part shall I shed to get ahead somehow

In meaninglessness only the weight of living makes sense
The brave weave of routine we seam
Compounding stitches overlapping
The  lengthy rope that ties creativity up in a net of mundane

We are heavy elephants circling circuses and carriages
Tied to solid objects when young
Now just small stakes in the ground
We wind round and round retreading the tracks of yesterday's footsteps