given a small room for a vast becoming in every matter of the heart. a year contended and torn across a fence as all the places ahead, all acquainted friends and faces, and all the words find places left behind in a hurry as if anointed in only small talk and waning, waving hands all headed for our wastelands. the thoughts of lonely people in array, the streets all lined in fear. hearts afraid to brass, we’ll all just disappear. in little box, in little room, and smile faintly in disguise. these lonely lost can’t help but find, their numbered days, one year in time.