1.
He paints all sorts.
Familiar scenes,
but there’s always
something missing:
a tree with trunk
and crown, no middle,
house with windows,
blank space ‒ no door.
2.
He lives rough;
his back the wall of
his bedroom.
He listens to a
radio, low static-filled sounds
that dribble from
his privacy into the street.
3.
I’m looking at the
doorway;
the paintwork is
scorched.
It’s been like
that for a while now;
he, himself, is
missing.
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