I wonder
what do the corridors of power look like?
who and whom walk there?
and what shoes do they wear?
do they take alternates and a spare?
are they alone?
should we care?
where will all the corridors lead?
when to begin, when to run, when to lay down?
I guess
corridors of power,
where deals are done,
empty paths and scenes where,
ends meet their needs, (hello!),
where sad victory bells are stored,
bells that mark the marriages of,
Miss Expediency and Esquire Road-to-hell,
I imagine
corridors winding by curiosity to,
gloomy storerooms with barrels filled brimming,
with, articulately corrupted dreams,
all leaking onto the floors,
misting to our air, into every breath,
the stinking corridors seemingly awash ,
in eye-watering and uncleansable mess,
I suppose
the shoe question might be more important,
than I first thought,
for you may need:
running shoes, (to keep ahead, or play hide-&-seek)
steel capped boots, (treading on toe protection)
acid resistant wellingtons. (to wade through the bile and gore)
heels in red, (stiletto points can be useful)
I recommend
the we of now, like those before us ,
should stay away, from passages of transit,
lest we lose our souls and reasons,
running the gauntlets,
in strange shoes,
down infinitely deceptive,
corridors of power.
