Jul 1
I saw
in the streets —
dead people
walking;
(tiptoeing...)
They’re
not deceased,
nor are they
alive.
I saw
in the streets —
that desperate
hustle;
(grinding...)
They’re
not hungry,
nor are they
satisfied.
I saw
in the streets —
the filthy rich
and the poor;
(begging...)
They’re
not affluent,
nor are they
the *******.
I watched,
and wondered —
am I
one of them
too?
I saw
in the streets —
the appetite
for more;
(hungry...)
They’re
not content,
nor are they
dissatisfied.
I saw
in the streets —
dead people
walking;
(tiptoeing...)
They’re
not deceased,
nor are they
alive.
No one’s
screaming,
but I still
hear the
sirens —
As they
pick up
the dead
people
walking.
in the streets —
dead people
walking;
(tiptoeing...)
They’re
not deceased,
nor are they
alive.
I saw
in the streets —
that desperate
hustle;
(grinding...)
They’re
not hungry,
nor are they
satisfied.
I saw
in the streets —
the filthy rich
and the poor;
(begging...)
They’re
not affluent,
nor are they
the *******.
I watched,
and wondered —
am I
one of them
too?
I saw
in the streets —
the appetite
for more;
(hungry...)
They’re
not content,
nor are they
dissatisfied.
I saw
in the streets —
dead people
walking;
(tiptoeing...)
They’re
not deceased,
nor are they
alive.
No one’s
screaming,
but I still
hear the
sirens —
As they
pick up
the dead
people
walking.
This poem reflects on the emotional numbness and unrest in everyday life. The “dead people walking” are caught between being alive and dead—lost in a cycle of desperation, hunger, and disconnection. It’s a quiet look at society’s struggles and a call to reflect on our own place within it.
