These people seem barely people
yet people themselves all over my life.
I look at and I look for
but I guess I don't like people
and I go alone for twenty years.
The shadows juke and jive on the periphery
but I know, I know, and I don't believe
every wind that blows in my ear
is whispering a promise.

But the idea of people
that people promote, that propagates,
that penetrates the rind of experience
that people call cynicism, call fear—
my god!