Drunkards Requiem

Before my eyes fully adjusted to the darkness, i could hear children
babbling, or perhaps senile old men talking in some language i couldn't
understand. by now it was evident that whatever this place was, people
came here in their thousands but never left, as if oryx acted as a
bottleneck for all the shit of the world to trap itself in, those who
found themselves surplus to hope with no room at the inn, no hail mary
get-out clause for the prodigals in every generation. finally, i
realised i'd stumbled into a dark curve of the boulevard. there were
hundreds of vagrants, living some sort of sedentary existence. this
place reeked of piss and food rotting in beards, there was none of the
click-clack of the glass avians as on the main street however. i
decided to take a little shelter here, with some hesitance.

Covering my fist with a cuff, i lowered myself down onto the ground
beside a young woman. she was pregnant, asleep.
Thinking it best not to disturb her, i turned to the next closest of my
downtrodden fellows, an old man. he was awake, and i touched him to ask
what this place was, and what befell its citizens. with the pressure of
my hand i realised that there was no give beneath his coat, and maybe
no nerves to fire upon my hand.

He jerked violently, somehow managing to thrust himself into a
scrabbling crouch, groaning and shrieking. i couldn't help myself but
to shrink back from the fury i had provoked. the most manic grin was
upon his face, and seizing a bottle of brown liquor from a dead or
sleeping body, took a swig and, starting to laugh, exclamed these words
to all around:

"Please believe -
You, frail women and men,
Leave the land of your birth and Take it with you.
Record store girls, taxi drivers/poets and novelists this night we ride
anywhere for a drink or a cheap lay, swaggering proudly and innocently
-
Simonists and Suicides, destroy your cities and rebuild;
Those grubbing at nothings and tomorrows, come silent and
unfulfilled.

Please believe!
scorned lovers born of tender tyrannies,
Mobs and serfs, victims of conspiracy
together are enough to bring down the walls of Jericho with dread
filled promises
dreams kept too great, much too great and fittobust the hearts of the
afraid.

You don't Need a God and you don't Need a car to break off all you want
from Life;
And you don't Need love when holding hands will do :
there is something in this world
which will not pass from this life
when life departs you."

In this place i wouldn't have expected to find someone so inspired,
but, looking around to gauge the reactions of his companions, i could
see that his furious words did nothing to picque any interest from
them. muttering, the old man sank to his knees and then to the posture
in which i had found him, eyes glazed and tired again. in as bedraggled
a manner, i rose and decided to leave.