No one lives here
In this terrible husk
Left listing in the slums
Of self- satisfaction

It quakes and breathes
But it seldom speaks
And it strides without meaning
For nowhere
For no one

It lives faint and far
With lost roving eyes
Eternally, consumed
By a great white mist

Sustained on few words
It groans and recedes
Gradually
Driven
To its cradle of rust