unrestrained space
is no less a burden when
its yoke wears thin – like liberty
it chafes upon a nakedness that
bares odium in unchaste review
it is no secret loneliness
is feeling’s death – even nascent
dreams need corporeality; despair
proves less a living thing than a
reminder of what has been
there is no ease or comfort where
freed dimensions flee the blight
of walls or faces smiling in accord
with suppositions saying clear
that this indeed was your idea
© 28 May 2010, I. D. Carswell
