after reading Stanford

Going down to the tracks, he felt
ugly and insincere.
A woman here once killed her baby, and
even owls cried knives.
Shame is lost in such greased corridors.
No one would ever remember the
savage honesty of the plum and the orchid.
I have eaten my own dishonor, my
tongue is burnt.
I have fought for insignifigance, I am
no matter, but there is still
a Stone Mountain sunset.