Wasted on this last pearl of liquid stench

In my nostril fills a rumor subtle on the wind

Hard against the pavement, ribs digging in

To the iron streetlamp

 

Jump at sounds, and startled at sounds

My eyelids flicker

Logic sees opaquely and vaguely that the world is barren

I hope my pages are still scattered in the street

A rustle reassuring at my head

 

Myriads of words to tell you plainly

The living and the dying were never

Are never deceiving

 

I sit against this post whence light spills

From where I know not

All the same I watch with the reflections in my retina

Filling over like tears of white starch

Papers pour in and around me

In and around to bury me

 

A living breathing being to consume me

Assume me in all of it’s shame

For not once receiving anything devoid of false recognition

So crumpled and inane

My scribbles came to be

Flowing freely of the world’s veins

To never circulate into the hands of another

 

I, keen and closely, contemplate callously

The movement of these leaves

Like leaves to be torn and tread upon

It is the thought of walking that makes

Their footsteps exist

 

And I remember once when I walked upon reality

The humans reading and thinking all that was not me

And me a collective unknown