the incense burns
lambent in the twilight.
circumstance spurns
a man who forgot himself.
the voice shakes
stirred by obscurity.
the heart aches
driven by absurdity.
the past is an open door.
the present a closed mouth.
the future is not what it used to be.
the road unchosen
paved with sketchbooks, dreams,
things less concrete.
the life he picked,
tamed by bills, sidewalks,
the fetters of routine.
empty canvas, empty cans
shamble to the grip of the everyday.
contrived an identity, for
the sake of practicality.
laying back, with empty hands
regret chews upon his brainstem.
looking back, full of lament,
a fool would choose reality.
