Train all the new kids
in the harmony of glass diamonds.
Wait for the train whistle
Whitman to look through the window.
Keep up the chant,
so the spirit calls,
Flowing over heads of hair spinning under street signs.
Seeking a sight
to believe in the nihilism of the work morning.
their excess of abstinence
in the forgetfulness of envy.
the lightmare underground garages
hoping to catch
a breath of the second-hand smoke of angels.
Waving to each other
in the horror of their fingers.
Tight closing their eyes in the fury of their passionate apathy.
Working all day
for the lack of a cause to stay home.
Denying all houses the pleasure of human company.
with their unbeaten wings
to the stronghold of the hipster baristas.
Floating over the pour overs of wasted lust.
Leafing through pages and pages of lice ridden poetry.
Driving head over devil hoof
in love with the casks
of branded heaven.
with the heavy pursuit
of their barren endeavors,
Silently surrendering to the orders of the wristwatch.
on the leather couch on the banks of dreamless sleep.
Taken away by the wards of the living room asylum.
Locked down under close protection by the hold of sightless eyes.
Lost to the memories of yesterday's Cathedral
They misplace faith again.