No pressure.

No pressure.

We all have something

To conceal.

A curtain is a veil

Of protection

From both sides

I worry over

The movement of stars

The smell of coffee

The passing of wind

Hoping nobody seeks entrance

Into my closed heart

The door is locked

Against intruders

There is a universe to ignore

But for the draw

Of a blackout blind.

Disembodiment

Is a matter of degree

Laughter gives rise to tears

The meaning of which

It is hard to define

Everything appears

Context-free

From the other side.

I might need to consider

Where my thoughts lie

On the subject

Of social cohesion.

I am nothing, if not aware

Of a need for discretion.

If I am to remain

Unseen

Unattached and uninvolved

In anything

Life-affirming,

Bar the performance

Of CPR,

Which I have had cause

So to do,

And the burning of toast

Which is a rare

Phenomenon

But as I do have proof

Of its existence

I will be wary

Of its outcome.