the smoke from the days last cigarette stings the eyes of the artist as he stares forlornly out the window of the passenger car as it bounces down the track

he doesn’t see the world for what it is or isn’t just the way it once could have been from the myopic view of many sundered sorrows spun in a hadron collider

the lazy eye of art in watercolor swirls left to drip on the warped wooden boards of a childhood home that feels like a prison in the vaults of yesteryear

the convexity of misapprehension with a subtle glaze of too many last calls spent searching for his keys to serendipitous surrender as the floor races to greet him

two glass eyes with a patch painted with the skull warning of the poisons he willingly ingests as the sun sets on the afternoon of his once promising career