old man

I swear I saw this old man three times today
this is just like street ballet
his coat is as ragged as his walk
his pillow isn't sometimes just a block
and all the world does what it may
like mornings made from balled up clay
newspapers in tow for a brand new valley
like stories from behind the alley

this old man stands
and walks the lands
never gives an eye
to when he might die


his brain is the smashed entity
and no longer his identity
it's in front and under my car
distant to me but isn't so far
as the blood trickled
and my machine was tickled
seventy-five percent water
against the rest of the slaughter


the fact that I disturbed nothing
and still broke his cling
made it seem unfair
yet we all still seem to bear
like we all seem to care