The Industry of Distance

Observe your years of anonymous industry from a distance
 You exist suspended in the fumes of a postulated hell
 Where fatigue and despair are unchecked:
 The city's streets are filled with people in a tableau of routine
 One day, you trip on a broken road and they scream and cry
 You settle waist deep in their insults while
 Your life's work is scattered by their stinking breaths
 Remember that you existed in the same place one year ago, ten
 years ago, etc.
 Escape quickly into a proliferation of momentary rooms
 Choose the room where you will become a corpse on a bed and
 Wait for your moments of anonymous sleep to gather close then
 expand lengthwise
 The people will remember you for your large nose and receding chin.