"With a man in mind"

Written 1/13/10 from 3:57pm-4:18pm.

There's a man I see
in the darkest depths of a haze
that time and distance created.
He stands, never slouching,
with a hand in his pocket
and the other nervously fiddling its fingers.

He is self-sufficient to the point where
he carries all that he needs in the word in
the pockets of his clothes, which are bulky
on his waif-like physique.

His eyes are apathetic to any direction his vision points.
His gaze screams "come,"
while his brows are like warning signs against them.
And his mouth forms a type of slanted smirk which screams:
"I am one," and "you are worthless."

Sometimes he slouches,
when I see him sit.
Never did a slouch seem more antisocial and alluring than his.

Life and death are hidden somewhere
in the depths of his pants.

The way he folds over his hand at the wrist,
with the delicate grace of a swan,
to tuck the hair behind his ear
seems to lock me in a trance
which I catch myself in from time to time.

This is a man of self-sufficiency.
He needs neither food, nor human beings,
nor oxygen to survive.
However, he creates an "O" with his hand for pleasure.

He is alone,
and I am the only one who knows he truly exists.
I visit him where he lives... in my mind.
And maybe (hopefully) someday, upon forgetting him,
he will die.