Discontinued

In the fog of uncertaintyportrait of the artist
a train carries me
through the discarded husk
of your ended life
your studio keys in my pocket
your diaries in my haversack
open in front of me:
so many of your appointments
never to be kept
friendships left cut in mid-air
and somewhere ahead;
a whole room of paintings
faces turned to the wall
like sulking children
waiting to turn and tell
their story of a life
of a man who tried and failed
as must we all but went down
fighting like no other
my brave hopeless brother
the blood on the walls
you taught to sing.

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This entry was posted in Art, Photography, Poetry, Psychology, Uncategorized, Writing. Bookmark the permalink.

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