Well Herzog, what do you want?
An angel from the sky? This train
would run him over.
Saul Bellow

Swollen from their fall, blued, blackened,

battered by chance encounters: atmospheric

disturbances, speeding cars, bustling inhabitants,

they litter our streets like discarded furniture.

Stripped of tinsel, stars, the blink

of their electrical shines,

they wander, careless and indiscriminate

as homeless beggars,

ragged beyond compassion,

ignored in the midst of this interminable rush-hour,

not even accorded the privilege

of being thought alien.