the hombre he stares
out into the dessert
before this,
he saw an ocean
filled with the unknown, the undiscovered, the possibilities
now as he stares out
do the grains off dry hibiscus plant inspire him
nay
the bleak never ending dunes of powder
time
went by
so quickly now he feel trapped
like Nigel
within his own window,
passing the time as his ear grows smaller
and fonder
of his toad
garamy
he no longer works his biceps as he pours his chai tea
into the mug of destiny
of
fate
of life
of
lust
the barren wasteland of the city
bleak and passing without him
without Nigel
goes by with the plumage
the crest of the soul
drift further and further from consciousness
living on the edge no life, no warts, no brownies
nought but Nigel