Inside the old seer,
landscapes. Still life upon
still life.  Portraits,
abstractions, sketches,
doodles that once
meant something.

Impoverished, malnourished, ravaged;
he lies on a twin bed
in the attic of his sister’s house,
the last place he is allowed,
the last place he has permission to be.

Everything inside him
thrums like a factory.
What’s being made here? Will it be
like the rest of his life, something
only others can use?  For him

“future” has always been just a banner
hung to let them know
where to find him, and
it’s also the last place
anyone will ever look for him.