An Exercise In Imagery

I am at a loss, in the night I stand
beneath the lonely street lamp,
a spot light declaring my fear
like my number in line. People

supposedly all around, their two
eyes to my one body, double
against my skin. Ten fingers to
two hands push me back into the

dark, away from vision, and I fall
back to the closing of my eyes. I
feel the ground as my bed and the
wind as my blanket. Free from the

world, yet chained to those atop
of it, a haggard dog unwilling to
walk. They pull me along, the smell
of dirt in my nose, but halted by

my green lungs. I stretch out along
the wall, butted against the floor as
the world turns beneath my cold
belly. Flipped to my back by the

falling rain, the flood of salty words
spoken by masters of the mind,
know-it-all's of the world, the giant
geniuses that lack the power to do.

They speak to my ears, inward to
the rattled cage with the metal fence,
black and zig-zagged. Looking outward
from the thought. I regret my station,

though my open mouth is as quiet as
my quivering lip. Scared, I'd say, but
there is nothing left but the last star
winking in the sky, just beyond my
spot under the light of the street lamp.