In The Director's Seat

In the director's seat

close to the seat of power,

clinging by the skin on my teeth

but more relaxed than for a while,

it's just not my style

to be settled;

my headspace is often frothy

but, like an ideal gas

the bubbles ricochet like they want,

and nothing returns to haunt me,

i don't believe in ghosts.

Looking forward is the only option,

with time and against it,

purgatory much better than factory,

or refectory

that burst and tore my skin before,

or the old folks essential tasks

that forced me to paint on my eyes

while someone else spoon-fed the heaps

in the background

and still others lulled to sleep -

The end of a long, long day.