If you tread through a floor &
around are puppets jerking
out of rhythm
you find your path through the mob
without a minute of doubt
but those that are your direction
do not wave for you but are
engrossed in their mutual self
in their common halo - so keenly
owt beyond it blurs off discernible sight
do you pine, reel or cry havoc
claim your right, utter a jest
or trample on their heads
malingering owt like
rubbish
Michael Witkowski
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/malingerer-s-floor/
