Alone in the City

Once a man faces his own  back street mask

Folded thrice, ironed (and  hung with care to

Dry upon a cold steel stair out of reach),

Enduring the lone struggle of a task

Asked of the self, to be, and not to do

Degrading actions of those who teach

Endlessly the meanings of  compassion

Needless of  victims, then can he become

Devoid of  this assembled thoughtlessness.

A man sits in a dead-end alley.  Some

Lie has been spread, that he is dead. Though less

Lies are said:

                                  he‘s-of-a-drunken-nation.

Ernst contemplated the brick in the wall;

Yet insisted it didn’t exist at all.

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