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von Naevus

So this is what I′m reduced to
Obsession with the process
Pushed to pride in worthless things
Stumbling into eastbound trains
I'm caught in their littered slats
I′m eaten alive by filthy archways
Crusted with soot and leavings
The tufted hundreds gather 'round
And stare with eyes like sovereign rings
But I can withstand a curling
No camouflage
No truck


I travel up between the cracks
Bodies form other crevices
There is another there, along from me
Looking around, but mostly aside
Paper fills the seats between
Hair drapes down over
Some new form of relentless inactivity
Beaten down into idiocy

Putting into correct perspective my suffering
I was concerned for my welfare
So I cut it off with a knife
Clicking Spanishly
And did I mention Jesus?
Anxious children wait in rows
I'll keep the trophy for myself