I’m an interloper to everyday life, born into a forgotten neighborhood lying on the other side of rusty tracks.
I’m among you standing toed to your metal gates, gazing up at life no longer expanding into possibilities. You know nothing of my existence, the possibility of me never intrudes into your consciousness.
Clanking metals resonate daily as men and women forging earth into blocks waiting for you to decide. Your hero’s and saints mean nothing to me, your weathered worship fallow of meaning, bereft of redemption.