As if
I were flea-ridden
A stray lurking
In the rain-ravaged gutters

I bear the full weight
Of seething eyes
Downcast and infernal
Drawn
To my sinking form

Strangers boil over
Swept up
In the fury of disdain

Rearing
Fearfully posturing
Towering, brimmed
With phony valor

As if
I were forged in doubt
Destined for the streams
Confined
To the gutter’s whim