Eyeballing Crowds

Eyeballing Crowds


My mouth wears
a muzzle today,
stoned with tiredness,
ravished in angry
torn eyed views,
sunk in the depth's of
a madman's shoes.

"What the hell are you looking at"

Screams the crow
towards this beat up
car-crash of a being,
slobbering upon an
artists steps
judged and condemned
by the passing crowds
chanting,
          "we are the people and
            you are the dirt under
                our feet".

Eyeballing my
break-dancing shape,
stabbing my soul with
unwelcoming thoughts,
every poisoned sharp
arrow precisely hitting
its rotten human
target.

I clinch my sweating
                          hand,
digging my mildly
                  chewed nails,
deep into my palm.

And towards the sky's
                          young blue,
and the first evening
                            star,

and with Samson's strength
and Leonidas strong will,

I raise my fist.

And the earths tremors
echoes my words,
and violence invades
my mind and nestles
itself in a reserved
                      corner,

                          dormant.

And the crowds
pass on by,
and I lay my head
upon the sharp steps
of the beating city
and smile my way
to dreamland.

                                                      spb.