The failed writer
For twenty years he has written down
what came to his mind, in the end, many books
with his name on a bookshelf.
There they reminded unsold, unloved collecting
the dust of time.
He tried to sell his books on Amazon and in shops
when that failed he gave books away to people
too polite to say no.
He danced a summer night declaring he would
be a writer his girlfriend laughed and laughed
till he put her head under a lake, walked home
and wrote some more.
They will never catch him now his name
is erased by the longitude of sad past.