They keep me locked in the corner
In the middle of grand central station
Like Schrödinger’s cat, both dead & alive
Waiting for the poison to spill
The radioactive decay to set in
So they can clean up the cubists dream home
And reconfigure
To a more respectable
Form of function

I suppose it’s not worth the efforts expended
To yet again exhale a sigh
Just smile and nod
Whatever is required for the time being

Honestly, I can see now why the mass exodus
Begun several years in advance
It would appear that the tides shifted
And sank the gardens under silt

Leaving nothing but dead dried leaves
And dandelion dander
Every which way you look

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