12.10.2012 – Edvard

by deanmelbourne

They stand and stare and their gaze is returned by the unblinking masks and drawn features of working men and murderers and the skeletal painter looms from the dark.

The watch the sick, the weeping and the lonely. Their stare is too expectant and clinical. Like a autograph hunter missing the joy of meeting their hero. They are not present and they miss the point.

How do I know? That’s a big presumption?

I saw no one weeping, that’s how I know.

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