If you tread through a floor & <br />around are puppets jerking <br />out of rhythm <br />you find your path through the mob <br />without a minute of doubt <br />but those that are your direction <br />do not wave for you but are <br />engrossed in their mutual self <br />in their common halo - so keenly <br />owt beyond it blurs off discernible sight <br />do you pine, reel or cry havoc <br />claim your right, utter a jest <br />or trample on their heads <br />malingering owt like <br />rubbish<br /><br />Michael Witkowski<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/malingerer-s-floor/
