In the middle of a field of swaying wheat grass there stands a man in a suit waving Just a slight guesture of a hand His eyes were a squint as if somewhere before his gaze and mine meet his sight is stolen His blank stare accented by dry, slightly parted lips that look like gasping for breathe is a hobby long lost Below the steel beneath my feet begins its subtle but growing vibration, and i'm to captivated by the image of this lost soul to take any notice Suddenly his weight becomes free from his prior self-confusion Becomes one of fond farewell The mans face now brightened with a smile as pure and genuine as his eyes Which had turned a color to match his suit It's as if life had graced this man with a replica of birth I didn't feel the initial contact of the train Nor did i feel any pain or even slight discomfort I now lay on my back 13 feet from where i last stood The man, a distraction A lonely detail of an elaborate self conconsius decoy The ground swells with water until my body along with the wheat grass are fully consumed And i become just another meal Don't be distracted by the man in the suit He is but the pawn of lifes dirty work