principals of the measured man
his gait unsteady against the winter sky
watch his limping progress through
the brittle dead leaves
past the silent stone elephants
carved with intricately beauty's
nubile vixens pouting at the exhaustion
of the rivers of gold
of the unquenched thirsts
theirs is a cruel fate as the trumpet calls

principals of the measured man
as he pauses in his walking flight from
this scene of a solitude in commission of a sadness
the strolling red cheeked trollop waves
a neat clean hand
and invites his smile long for the ride
he leaves her with it
entrusting to fate
that one day soon he will smile once again
she is a cold word in a hot book

the measured man
stalks the empty corridors
and backstreets of the hometown
needing the reasons for the thing he has become
but he speaks to no-one so none can tell the tale
doomed to be a spectator in this carnival
of the fair and foul
he will forever be there face pressed against the glass
staring in as the world lives