A combination of two older poems…..let me know what you think.

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Condensation

In the shadows of the Great American

Wasteland I

saw a blind man painting laughter

on an unsmiling canvass,

a drunken surgeon operating

without a license.

He was a musician.

How? I don’t know.

He comes from far away.

Where? I couldn’t say.

He listened to photographs

of other people’s lives.

Beyond tinted shades and

a smoky neon dance

floor

he sat at the piano

confessing

what?

Condensation, once language,

that now gathers on the looking

glass.