broken corridors

it's that colossal supposition
if not a worn out delusion
that everybody meets that somebody
who drives them mad
sad obtrusively desired
their viceroyal supplement
a third hand
and a telescope to rest
their eyes
after brooding in deep shit
for too long
two ends must hit their beginning
alpha and omega
I choose them
from time to time
I choose something about them
and wait and wait for them
to unwrap in front of me
by being what I need them to be
- they never are
but likelihood remains
there's always one more person
walking the same pavements
as I am
unknowingly plotting
to bluff my eye