untitled.

and they remain
soulless, lacking, bare
....waiting, i watch the lives of others
countless others
defined, confined
to wheeling boxes, most are black
some bigger
others smaller
old, new, broken, locked
torn, plastic, sturdy, and dirty
yet all the same
and all clandestinely holding, hiding,
identities

empty, the soulless wait
until their defining box is spit out
and begins to ride
around and around and around
waiting to be claimed and owned
by the body belonging to the encased
identity

and so the bodies struggle
and push among themselves
tirelessly searching
and waiting to re-claim
everything of themselves, and their hidden
identity

i watch the unclaimed and forgotten
identities
go around and around and around
in my livingroom

mine?
long lost in the system
give into the arms of the air
too many times over too many years
seen by too many faces, in too many places
and is probably going
around and around and around
somewhere else
waiting...unclaimed, and thinking it's home by now
i wouldn't want it anyways
just re-pack, re-ship, re-check, and re-claim
i've been there before,
i don't think i'll have it back, thanks,
my identity

i think it's filled with too much naivete anyways
i don't want it now,
i bet i'd get away just surreptitiously stealing
another one that looks enough like mine
with wheels, a few zippers
and no tag.