The herd is strong in me. It steers me when I think.
I feel it grunting in my stomach when I sleep.
I walk with my herd invisibly around me.
All my confusions are forms of loneliness.
But you keep your distance as if it were money
and smile on all roofs with superficial light.
Remote therefore happy, you swing
above the neighborhood’s dust, rumble, and gas.
Anyone looking up admires you.
And how we do look up, all together.
Our guts and throats silent as scared crickets,
we cease for a long moment our chewing.