The Block

Of course, the concrete steps go both up and down, but the depressing gravity will not let you go up far, Down is the only way out. only mold creeps its way up. The tower is a block of sorrow, people live here in the cracks and corners, they shelter in place, occasionally they go down. The elevators are dangerous coffins that the undead use for commuting with their sadness. There are children, the older ones graffiti the city and return to bleed-out their souls in cramped box rooms. A crumbling poverty chews at walled-in spaces, misery leaks out, then is patched up once more. Dogs are held hostage, cats are neglected by indifference. We are not kind or unkind we cannot afford to be otherwise. Feet clump on the stairs at night when our eyes are tightly shut.