They’re coming for you,
The lives you ignored:
Those little people
Passing below,
Morning and evening.
Asleep at noon,
You feel yourself adored,
A Klee or Kandinsky,
Inventing some brave new world.
Achieving glory
As an artist should,
While clutching the duvet tight.
Dream on,
Ignoring the creak
On the stairs:
The scuffle of shoes
And murmured threats,
Spurred on by
The landlady’s whispers.
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