Low and in the Wind

Fuck the vanities, and throw me by the wayside,

relishing in my own impugnable suffering.

Curbside, dust settling on my face

I lay on my back, motionless, still,

looking up at the sun as he mocks me,

and the cars the cars the cars.

Make myself a bed in the street,

spite the world, warped, wobbling,

ported with pistons of profit.

I can pretend.

I can portend.

I can propagate.

I can puke.

Resolving to lie motionless,

hoping the world will forget me,

hoping I have not hurt the ones I love,

dreaming a world that cannot exist,

low and in the wind.