Lincoln

marble eye madmen
cast down their holy stares
from granite windows no one cares
to even glance at
papers blow down streets somewhere
far away out of the
stares
of the marble eyes
empty bottles clink in sorrow
in alleys where the paper blows
like metropolitan
tumble weeds in a wind of
prarie lack luster
that never will be again
they courtsey
and dosi do
to songs in the heads
the minds of men
stollen by the grape
and still their eyes
are not marble
but the madmen
toss down dimes
spit and laugh
not knowing who has won the dance
with cardboard dancers
in a night filled with stares