Perhaps in a Cafe


Perhaps in a cafe in Rome

I will suddenly be a ‘Romantic’

swept up in black coffee

and cigarettes

like glamorous women

on old movie screens


Perhaps in a cafe in Rome

I can willingly choose to be ‘me’

as though I was only a ‘look’

a ‘face’

waiting to be found

beneath the mirage of so many places

that have graced this skin

since I first glanced at a magazine


Perhaps in a cafe at home

on some ordinary street

I’ll accept my fate with grace

and leave no concern

for pictures

or an age

stamped upon my bones

like a countdown clock

reeling me in

strangers in a sea of cameras


the world has made us strangers

lips without lipstick

and I am without a name


what will they call me when my life is spent?

when I am buried

or worse


cast out into the wind


for there are no mirrors beyond the time of death

no facebook

no instagram


the earth cannot validate this mind

that cries out for a compliment 


the wind cannot caress this face

when all I am is ash


If my life is one for dropping

in and out

of other lives

then so be it.

Let me be a fly on the wall

collecting scraps

when necessary

bathing in all

that was meant for someone else.

I am a consumer of life

and an observer of days

I watch the way mouths rise and fall

upon the words

of another’s lips.

I sip coffee

and lounge in the taste

as though it was created

with my palette in mind.

When my feet occupy space

time steps out of the way

making room for me to see

the way my shadow

makes shapes

against the invading sun.

The wind knows better

than to keep itself at bay

it greets me with an overwhelming hello

and sometimes

a long


tearful goodbye.

Nostalgia settles in my bones now

and I float

upon a carpet of laughter and cries

that make the best of days

and the worst of days

a beautiful dream

I’ll never taste again


-Life artist