HIS STORY SUNLIT

I've become statuary -

Motionless for the remains

Of us to adore. My footpath

Is customary 

As in the fashion

Of a city park.

I dine on Cream

While I shave in

The dark -

Making straight-razor stabs at love.

Someone calls;

I don't return

The buzz

A rumble in

My pocket signaling a

Telemarketing ploy. Such

Are the stretched out days

Watching an aerator's 

Ripple on golden pond.

I'm but a stain

On cluttered pages

Someone's mistake;

Another's happy

Accident. Have decided,

Though, to forgive myself

As if I were at fault

For being the spawn

Of misplaced and

Ill-timed

Ejaculate.

-jim hill (1-20-2017)