I don't know the voice to reach them.
I cry out and they laugh me away as an
anachronism. I swear at them and they
throw me several coins; the women roll
their eyes and say they hear it all the
          time.

I stomp my feet, "the world is dying!"
And they pass through me as they pass
through the poisoned air. I go into
a pawn shop and buy an instrument. It
sends out sweet notes over the echoing
corner so the runaways clamor around me/
          proclaim me a god!

Soon enough the politician (or is he
an arbitrageur?) stands in front of me
Someone I went to school with.
"You are a disgrace" and I feel his pointed finger
as the tip of a lead
          pencil.

Police are instructed on ways to deal with me;
I, who want to please the crowd that drifts from me
as leaves in a spring wind; away to where the ocean swallows
the sun to the oceans cold belly.

But the loveliness of this friendly day!
Why worry? It is filled with little treasures along the silent highways.