People are beautifully statuesque
parodies and tragedies
of one another.
A great democracy of limbic creatures blinking
out of awareness and back,
pretending to sleep
while the world totters ever onward.

Creased post cards,
miniature elephant figurines
thrift store rings
and dried grocery store flowers.
A beautiful whirling loop
of meaningless
meaningless keepsakes
to soften the imposing sorrow
like warm breath
on a sleeping face.

Each night without fail
their city centers hum a concrete anthem
for a future which will never come.
A constant distant song
louder on the coast somehow
where the cold billows
amongst the barbwire
and bootprints.