The Torch

You walk into the room and

I am an hourglass.

I hate this place and

I know why.

Neon and blacklight glow

false as the clothing,

false as the dance,

false as the names.

False as they are, as we are,

the neon is the glow of heat

in this crucible of reality.

That is why I hate

this place.

You walk into the room and

You want something from me,

but not me.

I give it to you for something,

but not you.

Love becomes transparent and

the blacklights show me truth.

In a crowd of people

I feel alone.