There is a man who listens to no song twice.

Or a woman, as always their gender irrelevant.

Every thought is new – containing

a mental puzzle missing thousands of pieces

that he will never finish.

                    An analytical mind salvaged from a scrap yard full of toddlers.

Each flowering thought stemming from ‘why?’

He returns to nothing in leaving everything.


His ambitions collapse into piled past actions,

sand castles forged from too-dry sand.

Everything is washed away in waves.


Who relishes in the wonder of unanswered questions

Who owns no mirrors

And who stares down the cavern of his consciousness instead

                    An unlit tunnel that he is still assembling.


In leaving the tunnel, outside colors vibrate in living saturation

and he hears gravel squirm under the burden of passing cars.


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