Sunday, June 26, 2016

Curator of Lost Things

Would drink or sleep a life away
if left to his demise
whenever he feels steady enough 
however he will
discard old newspapers
flabbergasted suddenly 
by the clutter he once
couldn't live without
forgotten about
how he was like
makes up memories to justify
months of madness ranting on
how I painted a demented
snake oil doctor 
administering poison to the public
yet he was simply a man
mulling about
mopey and mean spirited
takes advantage of trigger points
those reckless Pacific nights that 
engulfed me from afar
took almost but
a year after the final pack up
took every speck of sadness
to displace his despondency
oh, dreaded days 
of dull trepidation
& resentments again arise from
the ocean for they were 
too buoyant to sink to the bottom 
like shipwrecked relics
downward deep and dark
is a skeleton 
a shell of someone
my Cervantes
my Cicero 
my curator 
of lost

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