I Want To Run

The box in the corner spouts
you and them
and I wonder why
I bother to sit and listen
for your monotone is like the straight green line
and so often you sit statuesque
not hearing, nor touching my body
or soul. You grab my mind
twist it into acrobatic contortions,
an unnatural stance where it bends
in a brutal way like the wooden boards
on an empty wine barrel
as it sits gathering sun rays
in summer. You relate the thoughts
of others, both evil and kind,
and still I listen, wishing
you were not an inanimate object,
wishing I could taste
your thoughts like that first caress
of red wine on the tongue or that first sight
of treasure under the sea. Bands
of steel bind my mind
and I can not move
though I want to run.