King of Dropolis


An anguished chill hurts the night king
the moans of traffic dissect the interstate
lonely bellows of travelers of midnight passage
and me, well me
I don’t really even know where I am, who I am, why I am
some windy, flattened palace
of stone and glass and flickering neon
and I a statue filled with blood and pain
rolling through my nightmares in dirty sheets
waking to another day of heat and wind
I crawled away, from one hole to the next
this one deeper and meaner
my crazed mind begging for bandages
as I shake and crash my car in the parking lot
of a miniature KFC
this fast-food world
these strips of seductive shopping
we work, work, work
to buy, buy, buy
the oppressed
chained to numbing desks
chained to numbing machines and boredom
the boredom of it all
bored out of my skull
and being human is slowly, no quickly
losing its meaning
in this Dropolis
and I shudder at the thought
of bringing breath to dawn
a heart attack, no stroke
on the precipice
of another day of hopeless struggle
and I wonder
what is a smile? what is laughter?

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