hall pacers dominate the morning
sandle feet shuffle back and forth
eyes cast down travel the floor seeking the droppings
of the pacer before
the riches are in the mind
baubles of plastic and paint
the remains form a graveyard
bone thin white shards baking in an
imaginary summer sun
the unshaven huddle in the corner
watching with avid eyes
watching for the silence that follows
like a shadow... like a sad memory
weaving rhyme spoken at first attempt
he stands perfectly still in the midst of
all this random wandering
staring out into the distance of his mind
eye on the devolving thoughts
of her turning to go
turning to go
to go
go