humaniety

             they say he grows roses in the devil's garden       that he dances a clockwork vaudeville, a sinner's penance.  that he's a man of of dirty knees and sweaty palms,    howling a name that isn't mine. that he's            a special matter of calamity with a dormant heart and a lucent mind.                  a hollow man, a transgression,                           a bare and tremulous traveller