going all the places i
never want to go
seeing all the faces
i don’t suppose i’ll ever know
—
looking in the mirror to make sure
i’m still alive
though mail no longer comes
to this address
looking down the years to see how
i will survive
your guess as good as anyone else’s
guess …
—
half a leftover life for lunch
cold as a second-hand sandwich
eight hours a day away from home
that girl in a roomful of men
half a rag-tagged kite is stuck
high in a dark, leafless oak tree
mug of tea has grown stone cold
bitter when reached its end
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