Living In Third Person

He is his own narrator
Standing aisle-length away
Words crash all around
A disarrayed filing cabinet puree
Just furrowed eyebrows
Things to say but a day too late

He watches far in the corner
That homebrewed fog on auto
Tapping, gesturing, again and again
Trying, failing, to recall
Conversations with the murals
Cerebrally painted on chairs
Numerous topics ensue
All he memorized
His eyes strain, lips stretch
It will all come out tonight
They stay two steps ahead
There's laughter; he tries it on
Now a quivering stick
Stuck on top a cherry
As music and treats sway
The narrator sends shouts
Out from about the corner
The gel wall filters intake
Distorts outtake
All things said he could say
If life had a 3-second time delay
So once more he walks home
To come and be him once more

Things to say that came too late
Just furrowed eyebrows
A disarrayed filing cabinet puree
Words crashed all around
Stood aisle-length away
I narrated it all