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Working for crumbs
I pulled out and unfolded,
from my wallet, a tiny paper
with some midday thoughts
I had scribbled earlier.
But now I forgot
where they were headed.
Maybe it's the workday blues
that springboard imaginations
into flights of creation.
Potential squandered
on the next phone call.
Inspiration squashed
beneath routine footheels.
Just passing time,
or is time passing me?
I can't tell anymore.
So I seek the acceptance
of a person who doesn't exist
to devise definition,
and escape the reality-
the faint thud
of a far-off door being shut:
a piece of existence denied.
A moment forgone.
A choice dissolved into crumbs of will
at my side.
