Early Sunday Morning 1930 by Edward Hopper
You don’t see us
Along life’s rails
The sleepers and paths
That veers away from
The split infinite.
Of the fire and
Passed by; under the window’s
Eyes, closed on the world.
The rats and foxes
On night maneuverers.
You cannot see them in doorways
Sanctuaries of the bum.
v. absenteeists.
Words that smooth and caress
All lovers are blind except for Echo –
A cast in these vast stone artefacts.
These places to store…
Created for building & making.
And ‘no’ not us, we’re the bums – lost, strayed.
Just the bums invisible, yet there.
There is reason. There must be. Reason!
Kant’s mind occupied him a lifetime
Sorting those colossal pieces of,
Bishop & knight …
We feel – the fork
No address: no, no, no,
Begging breeds, no ingenuity
The cream always finds
The way up – the wise will
Wield a new way.
We sit, sharing stories
So old now, they become rusted.
Stuck in time. Their cells, their D.N.A.
Become and the story: that grows differently
The scene remains the same.
Life remains until the day grows.
The light cuts the polished shop window.
They have passed away.
The eyes of the morale and the moneyed
Will not see them today.
I am not a silent poet 
Reblogged this on reubenwoolley.
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