Pissed off with conformity

“Every minute

has its secret corridors

leading to dark rooms.”

                    — Vladimir Levchev (b. 1957. Lives in Sofia)

Pissed off with conformity, the times, the red glow
of a dawn which breaks old promises
like the shell of an empty egg
or the hardbacked horizon, we
shuffle on tired legs down these bleak
passageways that lead us back to
the rooms of our private dismays
where, reunited once again with the gloom we
have come to love, we
draw comfort from our misery. Which is
totally acceptable, given our human fallibilities. Goes
with the moments when, manic with happiness,
we charge about full of life. Cause of concern
being those times when normality turns
up like a grey-suited vacuum salesman on the front step,
and you invite him in, sprinkling dirt on the carpet,
your hand fingering banknotes out your wallet.