Walk down the street in the old town
and there will be the man.
Look closely and maybe
you will see the man.
Entranced by his aura of
filth, despair, hatred, anger.
Just pass by before the mesh
of his misery haunts your path.

Throng walk on, clipping their footsteps short,
but still he can feel their lurid stares.
He stands before the mass
raising his head –
monarch of the street.
People no longer stare, but look
at the eyes of the nameless
as he walks into the fire.

Flame caresses and cloaks him,
blinding him from the crowd,
who look on, silent and scared.
The blaze recedes and the man emerges.
Fire still clings to his body
as he moves down the street,
beautiful and fresh and unscarred,
searching for new eyes.