known.

The creeping, sweeping shadow people

with their hands in their pockets and

arms at their sides.

Asking what is there to make of this?

      I do not know.

The weeping, leaping wave dancers

Criss-cross the foamy waters

Etching passion on the shore.

A man. I wouldn’t know if he was close or far.

He yells, “Famous! Famous! Famous!”

Ironic in his day time tattered trousers and shirt,

but without the face and the name,

who’s to say he is not the famous one?

      I do cannot know. 

With his gee-tar, and his roller bladed shoes,

Hair done up, twisted with deprivation, poverty, and ill.

The nameless, fameless man

bestowed with all the praise of the Boardwalk Empire.

Riffing the tune of a melancholy stoner,

Humming the song of an apathetic hobo.

He skates by and I am lost in the swirl of his instrument,

Hypnotized by the quick flick of his musical fingers.

His gummy smile, crow’s feet deep as day, reflect on Fame.

That heartless muse. 

-Nicole