let the doors slide shut.
to hell with all the others
running to catch a train they won’t:
let them be late, let them hurt
i watch them hard of heart.

so sick of it, the mundane crawl
the motions, the going through them
self-imposed pull of routine’s black hole.
lemmings over the cliff,
lambs: meek and mild to slaughter.

too many childhood fairy tales
too much force-fed crap
our dreams unattainable, even before we start.
take or leave it, literally:
gathered only to dearly depart.

there is no more. so here’s your plate
a dollop of tasteless stew,
best not think while you chew.
whine if you like, there’s the tunnel (no light)
walk, or be trampled underfoot.