The One Who Cannot Cry

Let's study, I: this dread some man,
the one who cannot cry,
cannot escape,
along that arching overpass,
all concrete concrete, coruscating glass.
Let's watch him drive too fast
through glittering sidewalks in harsh sunlight
littered with trash and antiseptic rot.
We want to formulate this man,
until his emotions evenly divide,
to see the strings that puppet him.

See how he makes and breaks what he makes,
how he sings of things he hasn't seen.
Watch him whittle leisure hours
consuming commercials, sucking subliminals
assuming his signifigance.
He is a statistic, symbolic of himself
doing and doing, letting and letting
to an end of no end.
He can touch the sky with important monoliths!
He can laugh and want to cry!
He can and he can't fly!
But why?

When he finally sees that searing flash
consume his flesh and all his trash;
when he finally sees, with blinded eyes;
which is to say, when he finally cries;
can it be that only then,
when hellfire melts his dear TV,
is it only then that he can see?

poem written by JASON PAUL FOX.
You MUST credit my authorship when reproducing this poem in any way!

Violators are prosecuted, no joke!
I'm living off the generosity of plagiarists now!
(It's OK to give my poem to friends or people at school, if you credit me and don't make money off it)