he watches

he watches
a world that
he doesn’t
quite have
the patience
to be a part
of,
some days
it is a mass
of confusion
or contusion
a pummeling
oddly cancerous
thing,
a flurry
of flirty
embarrassments
insistently
incessant
in irredeemable
idiocies,
he watches
unsure at
the end game
slightly
sickened by
his own
curiosity,
wondering aloud
if there is
a glimmer of
truth buried
in the mass of
confusing
contusions.

none are so lost
as those that only know
how to cast petty
dispersions,
incapable of seeing
the beauty
they so desperately
seek to embody.

he watches,
silently
piecing together
disparate facts
from the slough
of insipid verse,
amazed at how
the flimsy
cobbled together
clumsinesses,
a paper mache heart
soddenly dissolving
in a swollen
river of
aligator tears.

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