this poetry is a hiding place br the only nook left for me br running away from br every creature of the br party, br br i take my time br and i do not really mind br what i write br whether i rhyme br br this is another monologue br something i keep saying to myself br how can i like this and that br how can i tell you br about what i want to say to you? br there is no way br no place no society br there is no other entrance br or exit br from these tangles and br strangles br br it is strange i mumble br i scramble and dabble br talking to myself br and pleasing myself br this is my corner br i keep talking and talking br you watch the tv series br you cry alone and i do not mind br if tears flood in this room br br this is my place this is my silence br this is the poetry of escapism br br i assume the shape of the bird's wing br i keep on flying without having to find any place br any island any sea any shore br br the words keep coming, they do not go anywhere br anyway, that is how it is intended to be br nothing for nothing br talking and talking br somewhere everywhere br alone and everybody br br the rain pours heavily on me br no one gets wet no one runs for shelter br no one really cares br halter swelterbr br RIC S.