Wednesday, August 13, 2008

He is walking under dim lights
Shadowing incandescent heavenly bodies,
Past muddied reflections in scratched windows.
Change is the constant,
But his pockets remain empty
Of everything but a single ring
From a tune that never seems to end.
The windows fill with lifeless bodies
And he only wishes he could
Put faces and smiles on wooden mannequins,
That he could make his heart beat
Without a single drumstick in sight.
So he continues to walk
Along these straight sidewalks
That manage to crack and curve,
And trip and fall and scrape,
And the crumbling optimisms
Of windows without clear reflections,
Of a face that will make make things feel whole
Once again.

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