Friday, November 16, 2012

The Great One

Obscenities of tar
he spiraled from his dreadlocks
like a poodle shaking off some dirty pool
in rage against the all
that stayed numb and so oblivious
- the talking to the cell-phone selves,
the growling for the gift of food -
that's what had turned him into this
unrecoverable addict
'cos it hurt too much to notice
no one acted like a human
- someone else was an abstraction
whose suffering couldn't touch them -
they thought that they were better
than the least who lived among them
- as if his sleeping
on the floor
made a difference.

2 comments:

Jack said...

We are not a Great One. We are a not-so-great many. Things are becoming conveniently less real.

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