Boxes

Box after box in row after row Many hundred stories tall they filter out the glow That sinks from the ceiling, abominable and blue One with the icy dust my eyes have adjusted to I know there are no windows, yet I haven’t seen the walls But I presume they do exist ‘cause they answer all my calls But save the echo the silence is complete Allowing my delusions to endlessly repeat Box after box, day after day The aspiration to escape has faded away I’ve no sense of history, identity or course And something with the cold, like blinders on a horse Makes me continue, just like before My body’s but a number, faithful to the core Without capacity to question, remember or unchain Here in the cold, I shall remain