Years after appearing, the ugliest man
hides in a room, shadows life from afar,
dizzies those close, and
An emotionlessness set upon you like
mandatory overtime. Growling labor
brings tears, self-doubt.
Definitely no double-time.
No one blames you for quitting. You gave
some notice. Dropped some hints that
things needed to upgrade.
Where’s this plane heading? No
safe spots in sight. The landing gear
is stuck. An engine’s out, gauges spinning.
Oh yeah, the pilot’s drunk.
A conversation between winter’s
weather and loneliness brought
to my attention that
the ugliest man was me.