the final etching…

each day
he entered
his studio
like
a man
pushing his way
onto
a subway car
back arched
with
determined steps
and
each day
he followed
the same routines
he arranged
papers
and
pencils
for
his
personal project
then
proceeded
to do
the commercial
etchings
that paid the bills
taking small breaks
to make
sketches
for his
real
artistic project
but
turning quickly
from
such daydreams
to
the real work at hand
by day’s end
he had erased
the sketches
never good enough
the years
soon
took their toll
on his hands
and
he retired
was
a winter’s morning
when he entered
his studio
inspired
by a night’s vision
he began to sketch
what
had escaped him
all these years
he was found
slumped over
an
unfinished drawing

having found a dead man…

each day
he wandered down
to the adjoining furniture store
for
coffee
and
conversation
since both
the hotel
and
the furniture store
were owned
by
the same
family
he was
a widower
living
in a cheap hotel
a rather
gregarious old fellow
the kind
authors love
to
write about
in
stories
of
how sociable folks
are
more resilient
than
the uptight assholes
that
tend
to run government
after
a day
or
two
the manager
at
the furniture store
noted
he had not appeared
for
his morning brew
two of us
new staff members
were sent
to check up on him
after
several knocks
on the door
we let ourselves in
with
the master-key
he was in bed
and
quite dead
the first dead person
we’d
ever seen
he looked calm
but
somewhat bloated
by noon
the body had been removed
and
we were instructed
to
replace
the box springs
and
mattress

 

it was all the rage…

i’ve forgotten
what was so
important
yesterday
and
the day before
seems
as if
my priorities
are
written
on beach sand
what i
perceived
as beauty
has
also changed
or
perhaps
it was never
my
idea
of beauty
but
some
marketing department’s
campaign
for products
found
on aisle 3
it really
doesn’t matter
so much now
for
i’ve come to realize
that
true beauty
is
self–defined
it’s found
in a lover’s eyes
a child’s
gentle smile
a hand
willing
to hold on tights
when fear pulls
on you beliefs
such
things
are constants
tho
in
reality
constants
do change
but
the change
is reciprocal
to
your changes

life lines…

before
the taste
of the first kiss
has faded
once strong legs
struggle
to move
from
room
to
room
hours
spent
in the waiting room
for
adulthood
result
in a brief affair
with
life
and
all too quickly
the departure schedule
is posted