Golland Inc.

The Shell
by Molly Drake

Living grows round us
like a skin,
to shut away
the outer desolation

For if we clearly mark
the furthest deep,
we should be dead
long years before the grave

But turning around
within the homely shell
of worry, discontent
and narrow joy,
we grow and flourish
and rarely see
the outside dark
that would
confound our eyes

Some break the shell

I think that there are those
who push their fingers
through the brittle walls
and make a hole

And through this cruel slit
they stare out across
the cinders of the world
with naked eyes

They look both out and in
Knowing themselves
and too much else besides

We have to teach kindness to those who neglect it. We aren’t all born a saint

These princely patterns mark seashells and eyeballs exposed by sky lights that guide me through my life so
Who am I?
Tag all the bodies with numbers and data through acres of races, blush upon face is bitterly tastless though aimless and plain as sheep in breeding, turn on your sets and commence the feeding. Corporate figures dont hate to be greedy, they care for the rich and less for the needy and wont leave an itch with a scratch ‘til its bleeding.

What is my name? Lewis in pictures of symbols, with a grin as blunt as a thimble