I cross seas
of tired backs
with broken bones
and stretching haversacks.
an ocean of people
f l i n c h i n g
 at invisible attacks
from a faceless few,
a layer of dew
s e t t l i n g
on morphing faces.

veins that appear
blue,
   green,
       yellow,
            red
on the skin of this city
often pop out and disrupt it.

where lives change
as easily iron tracks,
where lives are organised
into shelves and racks,
when a chain pulled
is a life lost,
or
losing.