Tuesday, September 22, 2015


He sits on the street corner,
howling sentences broken and
divested from meaning, hurtling
angry invectives at each person
passing unhearing and unseeing.

His voice cracks with forsaken fury,
the faces reflect the unfeeling edifices
rising and towering and surrounding,
an unending procession of cold exteriors
and hard fronts, lips locked doors set in
inexpressive glass and steel and concrete
bouncing, hollowing, blending and distorting
his wail with the roar of trucks and sea
of horns; the screaming screech of metal
and shower of electric sparks from the ‘L’
above echoing and overtaking in the din
of chaos his blindly grasping rage
searching the deaf and mute masses
for evidence of his own existence.

But here, the louder you cry, the more
you disappear, just another silent scream
swallowed by the city.