Buses

The bus was my shelter , from the dread , from the heat and sheer winter . My refuge during a monsoon slow dance . A vessel who was a grand ticket to sweet lyrics penned and thoughts of a beautiful world that forked thunderous inspiration. My literal window to perspective of the pauper , such vandalized perception. No true origin to call home , the pen became the sanctuary, rolling metal took me down the halls of nature , she was the mistress that humbled me . She was my stage in motion , I was the poet who spoke to an audience of strangers revolving .  My worms eye view was the greatest of them all .