Articles in my head, glimpsed by many,
read by few, remembered sometimes
not even by me.
Characters insufficiently described
unless captured between the lines.
Invented stories, episodes only imagined,
paths never actually taken by these feet.
Shoes unworn although well polished,
bourbons untasted though freely imbibed,
affairs with actors I will likely never meet.
Pity the unhappy architect
who from the big city has moved
to remove himself from the distractions
so that creativity might improve.
The reasons he has not hit the big time,
the reasons his failure remains;
the reasons why he will never be cleverer,
are all one and the same.
Coalescing these notions, arranging these notes,
baking these ideas into edible bread
still eludes me.
So do any of these recollections actually represent
any the articles remaining unread?