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.

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