nothing concluded
again
he sits writing
it all down
his mind spits
faster
than his hand
one moves slow
on the
face of the
clock
this time won’t
stop
wait rewind he
liked that part
made him feel
as though
he isn’t
falling into
all of the same
potholes
he filled them
all in the fall
spring now it’s
cold again
concluding
nothing that
anyone could
find beneficial
not artificial
though he making
it all up from
where the pen
might lie but
ask him
he won’t be
forced
into pessimism
if that
is what they
call it now
he has proved
to be a lunatic
merely waiting
for the perfect
time again too
bad it won’t return
will the dreams
ever clear up
he thinks about
all the moot
points his
finger at no one
important as he
looks
in the glass
eyes meet at last
and still
nothing concluded
muffled voices
through the floor
he wishes they
knew what to say
passing a
window wave and a smile
what more can
he possibly offer
nothing at this
time…
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