It’s like I
have a sty – astigmatism not bad enough
to van Gogh
the wailing interactions and malfeasance
or charter
some vein/vain/vane, trio out-of-here, on behalf of
the rich,
but that’s
because I’m no businessman.
Not only
that, I’m no craftsman… I service bone to the
unborn,
twink an
afterlife into forgetful radiance –
your typical
upstanding street mage.
Maybe I like
being used…
or the
thought of being used is something I like,
and maybe I’m
next-door to your experience
and knock,
and, well, nothing…
Never thought
life could be so hard as now
Hope is a
picture frame, the picture itself abstract…
I’m
down-loading ideas toward some future.