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The bus stopped short. We knew what this was all about. Get these fools off the bus--the bus ain’t for angels no more, the machine-driver sputtered wide open the automatic door. This ain’t the magic bus, it’s privately owned, and no one is playing. Was it a god that spoke: Get off, Get out! We couldn’t be quite sure. Our feet hit the street, a pair dirty lies attracted to the filthy floor… and on the move. Got a backpack, packed with fear and I can leave it any where, the bomb squad will surely surely find it for us. Got a package, and can’t remember what is in it, or even who it is meant for. But its not the package that is lost. We are lost, and we are at a loss, and we are at the point of no return, so dissatisfied, watch out for the losers. The crack in the sidewalk reminds the mind of the crack inside, a crack in the system -- all falls with time.
Posted on: Tue, 22 Oct 2013 12:01:05 +0000

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