there is a whispering
that fills the cardboard boxes.
the cans and bottles play
an unearthly music.
and vacant houses talk to god,
or perhaps the demons of poverty.
the wind stops blowing,
and the stink hangs like a cloud…
the evidence of blind excess!
the bodies of the nameless ones,
rise from the filth of forgotten.
the rats join ranks with stray dogs,
and testify against your indulgence!
soon, probably sooner than you think,
your eyes will be covered with dirt.
and the worms will take what you have hoarded,
as if you never owned a thing!