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.