Portrait of an Invisible Man

His jeans once belonged to another man and it
shows in the vacant spaces where flesh should be.

The desire to turn over a new leaf has given way
to staring contests with a peeling radiator.

Debits and credits meander through a sotted and swollen
mind until red blankets each and every boulevard.

The arithmetic of our choices adds up perfectly, so
much so, that we can’t bear to face the ledger.

In a round, nut brown serving plate, a half-eaten baguette
sits stale and useless, hardened to all who enter.

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