RAILROAD

This is no man's land, in wait for refurbishing, now used as a kind of stockpiling area; new, absolutely black railroad ties, long steel rails, piles of holding plates, each a sand particule, each redolent of a feel, a meaning, an aim, and yet to all looking just like sand to be walked upon towards a 'noble' destination;

The blinder we train ourselves into, the more socially integrated we become into the 'have it all' and 'have nothing at all' segments which are glued together into a fabric called 'competition' towards completion;

Off what? but sadly, none dares to face that question squarely, for each is but a tragic mini clone of a shark, each floating within it's own small aquarium, formol being the water of 'life';

Funny how a so called 'artist' succeeded into introducing into the Louvres, a huge tank of formol holding a forever still shark, pinned into this greenish substance, requiring a constant pruning of the all; pharaonic is the cost