Artist At Work

I never cease                                                                                                                                   

I've been vindicated                                                                                                                     

Put my feet up                                                                                                                         

Asked myself why?                                                                                                 

Why? Why?

My reflection was a ghost

I fell to my toes

Slid down the slope

Landed in the backlog

In the thick of the fog I am lost

With wide eyes like a movie goer

I am the pulsar

I always take the detour

Under pressure like Henry Darger 

I've gone missing like the Mars Orbiter

A plane over the Bermuda Triangle

Spy gathering intel, it's futile

I'm not some Wall Street banker

Certainly not a lawyer

I'd rather arbitrate than go to war

The sun is setting

I'm fuddled, in a cussed position

Wishing things were different

I smoke with the best of them

I dream of Thomas Edison

Manhattan is in the background

It's my kingdom, my playground

Water is dripping from the eaves

I have no qualms with it

I admire the beauty of the diptych

I tolerate the blemish

I'll make up for it, I promised

He looked back at me and then beamed

Like he was the July sunshine

I looked back at him

It was over like bad weather                                                                                           

Hoodoo or lumbago                                                                                                                             

Things went back to normal                              

Like a horse on the carousel                                                                                                         

Wounded soldier on the battlefield

I exist, around a bane                                                                                                                   

An artist at work                                                                       

It's not the same as when I was nineteen                                                                                     

The caffeine and nicotine adds up                                                                                 

When it's ripe the seedpod will split.