The stink of piss,
and the recollections of an unrequited love.
The frames of reference for a forgotten man.
Cut and measured on a concrete floor.
Screwed and glued at every critical joint.
My failures masked and accentuated by
daubs of acrylic paint.
The measure of a heart holds no value here.
The truer the thought, the deeper the pain.
Tickets could be sold for such a show:
a forgotten soul drowning in cherished
recollections,
and the stink of piss.