I am the foreground,
absent anything of
interest. The
passersby look upon
me for some
meaning I cannot
provide. Poorly scripted
and listless, I am,
a motionless snake
of verbs,
words without purpose.
View me, kick me down,
shit on me
I am the background,
lacking any sort of
semblance of
significance. The
passersby look upon
me for a little
beauty, but I am
drawn, pencilled,
and I fail to see
how I fit into the story.
I find it difficult
to relate to anything happy.

So, I am the midground
where you tread from
fore to back and return
again. I am sloppy but
tired and assigned
a position where it
is difficult to