Echo Chamber Named Family
They made children. They made sense to each other for a while
But after that so many wrong years in the long clean quiet hall
Of the new country where they made money and were safe
From nearly everything from which the rich are safe
But not from the blank growing lull like a white balloon
Inside and pressing terribly on the chest walls
Not from the sick boredom coded in them... not its grin
With air rushing through teeth. Not what sits up suddenly in the inner
Throne and eyes you and thinks up twisted visions
Of the steering wheel wrenched off as you hurtle
Down the street’s anonymous coalshine
And not from the senseless form
Bedstalled beside you speaking only
In the snorts and mumbles of the dumb legs and trunk