Nothing Ever Fills Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

The stations fill,
And the trains are gorged.
The buses slowly moan
A guttural, hoarse cry.

The cemeteries fill,
The graves are tender with demise,
And the children dance over the epitaphs
Mine reads:
For whom does my cold wind blow?

The parking lots are full,
And the cars are sleeping under the moon.
The yellow lines are emptied by nonchalance,
And the parking tickets hover and glide
Over the impassive concrete.

The classrooms are now full
With clandestine crowds and vociferous wails.
They converse with sagacity,
Full of meaning and ebullience.
Tell me, does the door of the room
Feel desolate?

And now I could write
More places that acquire a plethora,
A chagrined parade, a wintry festivity,
A collaboration of fragments and slivers -
And when they merge as one,
The people carouse in a collection of smiles.
Where am I?
Nothing has filled me to the brim.