Sinking Cans on the 412

Sinking cans on the 412. Nothing to gain. Nothing to lose. The future has been abandoned. I’m stuck within the now. The past no longer exists. Just me and my cans on the 412. The bus is rolling along as I listen to a variety of songs. All raising my heart to another level. My vision is cloudy and hazy by the beer from the cans. It’s better that way to be blind and unable to see. Still sinking cans on the 412.

I never thought poverty would be this good. Feel so real. Sat on the bus with suburbia rushing by sinking cans on the 412. There are many others on the 412 and all of them are as lost as me. They don’t sink cans but think thoughts that rush past faster than the houses outside. All of us drinking cans on the 412. Nothing to gain. Noting to lose. Hustling in jobs we don’t really care about. Living lives that we have no fear about. Sinking cans on the 412.

poetry in motion
poetry
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