Part I
man's slavering mouth
unprotected by a mask
he's happy that the suns out
and the birds are out
that the travellers that erect tents outside his office
are not out
he doesn't know he's too old for the birds
nose pressed against glass
stares out
hot breath fogging windows
heavy pants
slavering mouth
Part II
keroauc didn’t understand women
dancing around America
wandering in a beatific haze
wandering in abject loneliness
despite the steady crowd
wondering why women ran
making love or only losing it
ending in the dirt
ending of the mirth
discontented bloated death masks
manic malcontent slavering mouth
About the Creator
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Spectating
I can't imagine dying like this, in a place like this; on a cold, dirty pavement with rush hour traffic screaming by and a crowd looking on while paramedics struggle to find space to move. Who could? Deep down we all think there should be a reason, a moment of clarity... or a family presence, at least. For this man, this boy, the rail thin woman lighting a cigarette in a faux fur jacket will have to do - she's been here since the start, her eyes tracking the movement of my shoulders as we fight to keep him on the right side of the line.
By S. A. Crawford6 days ago in Fiction
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