To Argue With A Block Of Stone

The alley goes on forever
all beaten up between
the disconnected sheds
and knee high grass.
The people here sit
useless now encased
in some new statue
like malaise.
Human hands just slow
things down and bleed
too easy on the rougher
parts of whatever
sculpture we flash
credit cards to pay for.
The silver chain
around her neck gets
cold after some time
under the spinning fan.
The lights buzz until
they turn off by themselves
and everyone just sleeps
right where they are.
The dreams fade in
after an ad runs
for some painkillers
that barely even work,
and everyone looks
misshapen
like you’re seeing them
through walls of only ice.
In the dream
you unsheathe an old machete
under a golden hour sky
and cut your way
out of the city
now so overgrown
and empty
no one stops you.
When you wake up you find
you haven’t moved at all.