Thin dotted lines in rows together
Running perpetually in their paths
even though the lines they follow don't move.
Alternating, going different directions, they are armies
fighting against each other for our attention.

We think to ourselves that it is grand what they do
that they can occupy themselves so well with their task
the little armies, their motivations so quickly delineated
and kept in that thin, yellow patch.

But then we look up, and what we used to think were white
boards flanking the troops
also flank the others
the battlefields we asked for at the store.

Only there, the paths are not so straight
they curve around, some circle
others look like they would circle, if someone would let them.
They were victims of the cutter, and those numerous forces that no one
will understand, numerate, or divide.

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