Splits...

Signages on the windowpane
read a little louder, at times.

The glass on my window's got a clear background;
there're boxes of apartments
where
I can see together
- as if one were playing 10 channels at once on the television at once -
all discrete activity that goes on.

Flip flop to the mind's eye
and we're all in several discrete box-stories,
all at once,
playing different roles
as if each were
a full life.

And in each box of me,
there's someone like me

with his/her own boxes,
worlds which evolve,
adapt,
arrange and re-arrange as one would,
priority,
in one's multifarious existance

and i know
I'm just a box somewhere too,
on a slow southward-moving conveyer belt!