Expressionless faces, sitting on urban busses
Blank lifeless eyes, shiny skin
Hair in tops
And rain jackets on
In a world of noise
Or high-deafening music if you like
Same pose minute after minute
Sunken shoulders
Low breathing
As if their pulse has stopped
They note nothing
They can’t smile
No persons sitting next to them
But not empty seats after all
Bags on the seats
Living bags with tired feet
They need a lot of space
And armrests to lean against
Poor old, tired bags
They must sit the entire winding road
...Pets of the dead bodies...
In an instant they disappear
But with poison etched in their seats
You still don’t want to sit there
So you keep on standing over here
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