Phrenological Bumps in the Night

Thrashing orange limbs concealed beneath
above the procession content and serene
smoothly over placid waters
under the thundering bridge
roar, thud, vroom, ka-chunk
blind to the tranquility below
so slow
invisible to the rush
to work, to school
to industry, foundry, factory, drudgery
crime and fire fighting
death robbing, life giving
the cheer, the cry, the children
so unlike calm ducks in a row
their labors unseen under stream
if I could attain it
I would claim it
peace is an appearance
war and toil our existence
life is tallied in bodies and hours
both accounted for into ledgers
mapped onto actuarial tables
until they know you
or a type of you
for to them you’re a kind
computed and quantified
predictable and absolutely knowable
not a mystery at all
under the skull
as sure and true to measure
as the bumps on your head
a novel written in braille
they feel their way into you
divest you of what’s still
disturb that obscuring surface
erase the illusion of you and your will
the life, the you that is you
and you never know
clutching the delusion
your mind is your own
as if you never dream

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