The Stanford Prison Experiment

this blank page
you’re waiting for me
to fill up
with words,
with the presence of idea
for
me
to expound, divulge
create romantic scenario
arrive at a subtle dramatic
metaphor

to tell you
a tree
is more than a tree
and lie about the spiritual
nature
of mountainborne rivers
and the corpses of swamps
magic circles, all
halos of crows
the dying circumstance
of spring

to expose
a bit of beautiful symmetry
a slip of hipbone, skin
fat cell dressed skeleton
a fragile
wily spirit to bend and turn
like a leaf of paper
a supplicant that can not exist
without you exploring the walls of my
surface with a finger-
a judgement

have i served the function
of curiosity
has your identity,
my identity,
the identity of words
been sufficiently put to the fire
of question
is it ever deep enough
is there a further plane
to be pushed to
beneath

© Emerys Watchel, 2018 All rights reserved.

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