COMMON HAZE

COMMON HAZE

Miles of halls walking; all with doors open and wanting,
but I search... for the one closed. Looking for that which
I might understand.

Miles of rooms filled, seeing; all decorated and furnished,
but I desire...the one empty. Paint wet on bare cinder blocked walls
set upon a floor scrubbed.

Buzzing fountains at every turn
cold, floridated, and sweetened to satisfy,
I crave, but rather...go bland.

A common craze fraught with allure
in common haze of freshly papered walls
and carpets new, "maid" to cover...
seasons of manure.

...in common still
personal, our paraphrase.