Beneath The Walls

The walls of the maze are alive tonight
as the pressure,
this aromatic silliness,
of humanity closes in upon my neck.
Stinking confusion can blind
my eyes
easily if I let it;
but only if I let it?

The problem is not
cool concrete anymore,
but thriving with humanity:
legs and arms, noses
and feet aplenty
sticking out awkwardly from
under blankets of
dirty magazines and
piles of bejeweled handbags.

But we should walk free tonight
hands in hands
across the moon-washed field
that lies beneath the mess.
The mess will take care of itself.
Raise my eyes and the
maze fades away
leaving us all
alone together,

a bewildered constellation,
on the cool face of this earth.