He was a life less used.  A flower

rejecting water.  He considers himself

a square, surrounded by a circle;

room to stretch but never enough to

change position.


The drumming of his words sway like

wheat heads driven by random winds as

his words release, explaining the



He drums his fingers on a wall.  The beat

merging with a tune dribbling from

his lips.


He appears to be interested.  Listening

to those passing.  Forming opinions.

Sharing his thoughts with the uncaring.








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