I once saw a man,
At Union Station.
Amongst a conglomeration of people,
Who walked faster than solipsistic whims.
He screamed, everyone heard
Yet no one listened
“Back in 1989! Two bags for 20!
Yo, fuck this shit!
I’m straight from South Central,
Punk!
Fuck with me!”
He carried everything with him.
Pockets full of rocks,
Hands scorn by tugging thorns.
Suffering turned to Hatred.
Everyone walked on. His outward aggression
Fell flat
Like his future
on the concrete.
Tears strangled like a closed faucet.
His skin burned black not by heat,
But by neglect.
People know this. You see
The shame on their
Faces.
Those who survived incineration.
He stops yelling and,
Walks on.
To nowhere for nobodies.
Poiesis 