subtext

Everyone I encountered

in the building where I worked

were friendly and helpful

with only a tinge

of cheerful concern

to mar their facade,

as I scurried,

like squirrels in heat,

up and down the stairs.

Each floor resembled the next

with only slight primary color

hue variations to break

the monotony of it all.

I could unlock all the rooms

without a key, yet none

of the rooms were mine,

and all stood vacant.

I had too much to do

and knew I was late.

I could see my anxieties

extend through my hands

like colored ribbons

whipping in the wind.

No one else was in a hurry.

They all sat about the halls

like grandmothers gossiping

over tea in an orderly

Berlin neighborhood.

Then I was overwhelmed in epiphany:

I was in the wrong place – –

possibly the wrong time,

there were no clocks.

Then just as quickly I forgot – –

even though it was important

to remember any of the reasons;

so I continued searching,

opening doors, negotiating stairs,

falling, and falling, and falling:

 a constant disappointment

to everyone I ever knew,

or any one I ever was.