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Observe your years of anonymous industry from a distance

You exist suspended in the fumes of a postulated hell

Where fatigue and despair are unchecked:

The city’s streets are filled with people in a tableau of routine

One day, you trip on a broken road and they scream and cry

You settle waist deep in their insults while

Your life’s work is scattered by their stinking breaths

Remember that you existed in the same place one year ago, ten

years ago, etc.

Escape quickly into a proliferation of momentary rooms

Choose the room where you will become a corpse on a bed and

Wait for your moments of anonymous sleep to gather close then

expand lengthwise

The people will remember you for your large nose and receding chin.