These gates are always swinging

(it's not easy for everyone)

        

 

These gates are always swinging:

they screech,

squeal at each other.

These gates are jaws;

without partners,

they are harmless.

 

Now a field of pistons;

here work is the law.

Day and night they strain;

groaning up, collapsing down.

These pistons are muscles 

betrayed by all.

 

And this, the room of wings;

hold tighter.

These wings flap, frighten the air;

have pity on the wings,

they have no direction,

only agitation.

 

And in the end,

 

space:

here molecules disband.

Unmoored, we fall;

terrorized by incomprehension

 

we scream into eternity.