He put a shilling in the meter,
Looking and glancing, feeling the pain
That shrilled and mashed his soul,
Like something running and hooking,
Shaking and then hugging.
He put the illness in its three ends,
And was quite well off by the goals
That ended the time of events
Shivering in the breeze of life
And all of the life that was led.
The meters were shoving numbers
Far too concrete, letting them live,
Leaving the spaces and lending
The money for the golden wands
And winding stairways, so solid.
The meters of space felt a little,
Just like robots running and fetching
In the slight way they managed,
Forming a little frenzy of the madness
That bends the whole of this room.