Songs Without Music 1

Tied to the last inch
of a bus stop sign's post
Though there's no motion or movement
there's so many places to go.

As the transit appears
around a wide corner
With its lights announcing
imperative words and numbers
Anticipation awakens
from its lengthy slumber
What for or why
no one wonders.

Try if you can to concede
Try if you wish to succeed

But there's no hope for the hopeful
and there's no slope that goes upward.
That broken clock that goes backwards
is the lapsed memory of the forgetful.

On a seat in-between
the madly barking and serene.
For a minute there's some calm
lost in the words and the sweat-laden palms

But soon there will be a stop
and then it's off into the wind
that the body can't fend off
its skin.

Try if you can to believe
that there's no reason to concede
to all that you can't control
in all the desolate parking lots your mind patrols.

Gradually there will come an end
to the hope that the hopeful defend:
they'll make slow progress to their homes
to sleep on solemn beds
where they will awake alone.