How can we fail to feel the press of so many people
each morning. We feel them
in the belly
and at the crown
of the head
like an acid breath that dishevels our hair.
How can we fail to feel them
nailed there, in the hunger of the dream.
How can we fail to feel them when they shout
from their minarets and blind the sea,
and disoriented we search for it
with our humble little boat between our hands,
and so we drift, through sinister car parks
badly signposted,
through metallic radio waves
and hollow gestures.
How can we fail to feel them
when what we would want is a little silence,
and all of them — ALL of them — chase us shouting
in our ears about what is happening between their legs
and in the Calvary of their bellies.

Everything Should Be Free, XVI, p. 26