The motherfucker wore his loneliness like a cloak
Mouth wired shut from lack of use:
A metal gatepost meshed to the old oak tree trunk
Eyes bagged and heavy, when you sleep alone in the city,
The world queues up to trample on your dreams
Ears; 2 huge satellites detecting the very rumbling
Of the Earth’s belly
Employed by the Seismographic Insurance Company
Working out the next big quakes
Clearing out the customer base
On him, you could smell this line of work
Like a miner returning home reeking
Of his subterranean hell-hole:
Coal-dark, black sweat. He exudes
The smell of toxic gas, yes the world
Was a screeching canary to his air
And this all explains the motherfucker
And his being
Alone.
