mr businessman
with his briefcase full of battered dreams
sometimes he stays up late at night
but not to cry.

now he's an artist
put all his money in a retirement fund
and started his life from scratch

people say he used to be great
but who knows?
maybe he still is.

he doesn't drink anymore
not even as a social activity
it scares him that if he has it one more time
he may lose all semblance of self control.
he's put himself together
but the glue's still drying.

some day,
in a month or a year
an indefinable period of time
his gaping gunshot wounds
will have faded.
covered in scars, he will be the most beautiful person for just an instant.

but what's gone is not forgotten.
sometimes he will trace his fingers over ridges of flesh
and feel the phantom pain of necrosis of the spirit.
he'll be happy -
but not content.

a good businessman
is never content.