Rigid Movement

The driver waves his windshield mist
free, My mind it waves him back.
Trees, cold in stark rigidity;
I am not there, let frozen air crack
and splinter the sinus-pain free.
Who knows, the trees' frigidity
May be the seasons' way
of tempering instability.

The cold swing of my rucksack
stops, round my neck, like a scythe.
Its vital contents jostle to say -
This barely shows you're alive.

Movement brings pain to the eye;
A pinprick digging deeper.
It's time to sew up each blind day,
Bundled for your reaper.

The bus it calls a roar my name,
and beckons me still nearer.
Stops, the grimy doors pause play,
with a hiss! Do you still fear her?

She only is what only copes -
You pay for a brief ticket.
Protract the misery if you stay,
Sit down, the stamp will lick it

Shut, I seal the letter up,
Dismiss the years with words.
The post-box fears my pain away
And makes all life absurd.

Little boy, you've run away again,
Your teacher has been lost.
She'd've told you not to pray,
But measure the living cost.

Movement, movement, cry it out;
Reason moves me further in,
But thought promotes rigidity.
In and out, still frigidity.