You can be the guy who stares at the walls,
Ceiling fan spins
Counting down the visions of wrong decisions,
Who cranks up the AC in summer
With a blanket wrapped around his shoulders,
Looks out the window and waits for the fall.
Oranges in a bowl
Cezanne still life
Frozen in time
Unmoved by pain or strife.
The only thing that changes is the light
Which changes everything
Morning, noon and night
The frosting of dust
On the domes of softening fruit.
You can be the guy who waits for the shadows
To wrap around the orbs
Drag them into the pits of hell
The guy who stares at the walls
And counts to himself
The missed chances,
1:16 pm, November 13th
Won’t come round again
Not ineluctably like this,
Spinning around this predictably elliptical path.
You are the guy who is here for this.