Box

The rigid play
Of lines
On a box
No deviancies
But a consistency
An integrity
That I burn for
A daily clamor
That keeps my eyes
Opening upon
Every lifting of
The curtain
On the light parade
Which is reason
Not enough
But the only one

To be boxed in
By schemes
That slay
The old hunkered
Down habits
By ones that make for
Immortality