On some days, I see one become alive
amidst the strangest sliver of slime, he has survived
and inside the blinding hollow fires
he twitches; a piece of man with a steely glare

I saw him in another age
he marked his scar on my face
and ran rampant through the streets

There are other days when I wonder
Have my enemies scattered asunder?
Their machetes shatter in these asphalt jungles
I shuffle along in my cemented overshoes

and then I see
the man
who shrugs it all off…

I see him sometimes in this age
he marks his scar on the city’s face
and he bounds and dances
and laughs through the streets

barefoot
through this jungle
of concrete