Not every day is a good day
for the made up man.
Some days,
he makes up words,
revealing on paper,
what they were made for,
a handsome vest, or a satin hat,
for a velvet woman,
Or maybe just, a cross-eyed cat.
Other days,
the made up man,
may see paper dragons,
afloat in his mind,
and then set about to find,
some colorful fabric of life.
He checks the air,
not knowing where, to look,
yet feeling strong,
that it must be right.
But most days,
neither idea, nor material,
present their wealth,
these then are the hard days,
for the made up man.
Because these are the days,
When he must,
re-make himself.