i know your name

i have your papers

and your numbers

you are one square metre

and that depends on sundays

like for so long dragging your feet

through what understands

how more makes less

 

i have a title for you

but the page is blank

letters are cryptic if we have prisons

an oh how we have prisons

here between trains

across the same borders

as if peace opens a door

i have nothing to take inside

 

i am the person

in the crumbling house

and everyone thinks

oh well

she loved rivers

we all go downhill

 

so much falling

and everyone happy

and some who found bones

washed up in their lives