The sum of evil would be greatly diminished if men
could only learn to sit quietly in their rooms.
—Pascal
He sits in Union Station so that you don’t have to,
Covered in metallic paint, not moving, like applied
Pascal taken one step publicly further. The tourists
Patronize him; put money in his gold painted fedora,
And encourage him not to explain. The homeless wish
They had his strangeness, his calculation, his economy
Of gesture. The writers know he is a fleshed out
Character worthy of 200 pages or more, a catatonic
Knight-errant appearing everywhere in full armor.
The philosophers see him as a meta-symbol,
A shimmering sage who sits better than the Buddha.
Look how he sits and stares, they say. Observe how
Nobody dies because of this.