The Conveyor

The mass of milling multitude
Its multiple mouths open in noise
It strives, spreads
Diverse, Divergent
Focused or fierce
Drowning in life,
Flying on freeways
Stumbling on surgical blades.

Climbing ladders,
Some reach and watch
Alone on top
Alone, yet climbing still,
On top, but climbing still,
Climbing and clinging still,
While white smiles conceal
Unfilled hollows of hearts.

Some crawl, some stay,
Get kicked, lie broken.
A tide sweeps down another,
Riding the waves in sinewy display,
Crashing down on his own calendar.

They laugh, hold hands,
Or bicker or cry
Feel pain or complain
Or hate or fight
While all the while
The relentless belt below
Conveys the bug-mob
To their maggot holes.
.