there stands a man
hispanic
not yet old
no longer a boy
simply a man
standing right
outside my window
whistling

he is not good at it
there is no
haunting melody
no ethereal beauty
yet it is
something

perhaps it is
the drugs talking
but this rather bland
age indistinct
hispanic gentleman
seems to be whistling
the background music
of a mental breakdown

one
off key note
at a time

these days i need
to reset
i need a cigarette
a pretty lady
to slip the
top hat on
my head after
i slip my head
through the
scratchy rope
necktie she spent
all morning making
just for me

i’ve gotten myself
so tonguetied in this
lowercase dismay
spinning in place
where the metaphors
switch so rapidly
i can’t quite recall
which she it is
i am chasing

is it
loveorcreationorbeauty
is it
screaminginagonyor
simply screaming
just to be heard

can anyone hear me
hello

i know not
instinctively
to make eye contact
with the ageless
hispanic whistler

i know his eyeholes
are vacant cavities
where maggots fester
the whistled dirge
simply the wind
spiralling up
his exposed esophagus

there stands a man
elegiacally incorporeal
whistling a tune
in ill defined chaos