bus stop blues

grey jelly skies
dirty benches no one sits on
crumpled pieces of peoples past
dancing away in the wind
self consumed robots
speed walking on thier missions
electronic devices masticating souls
reality tip toeing away from all that breathe
solitude found amongst the masses
conversation found to be
a bother
a bore
a very sedated chore
beds that keep you up
jobs that make you sleep
trains running late getting you there on time
pray for the lottery
curse the god who inspired it
light a cigarette
but don't inhale
sit at home and watch
the television watch you
lie about the truth
but be honest when you say you do not lie
the only reward in life
with the only justifiable instant gratification
is going to the bathroom
and i hear it's call a beckoning