You exist for days on end
in a thick blue sweatshirt.
This keeps politicians away
from the door. The world
is at bay. The world
keeps coming back.
The world is a forge.
The world is like a body.
Faces, all of them,
whirl past. Skin wraps
the package. Skin sings
its old song.
Reads very well. I need the assertion of rhythm to really like a poem. Some well placed repetition here. This one is a little gem