Top Floor

Men who live alone and come
From long-term slavery that demands
The confiscation of their manhood.
Other men in perpetual motion

With the bags they tote
And still other men whose lives
Depend on the leashes they hold.
Those who eat only the rice

And beans of the restaurant
Down a most dangerous street.

Bald men.
Fat men.

Men with a slow gait.
Men who cry in the dark
For something lost
They cannot name.

Men as wild boars
And sheets of green grass
As my only shield from them in a dream
That would free me from the night.

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