The taxi door closed,
and the taxi drove off.
Left in a zone of
creeping thoughts,
I started to walk.
I remembered a poem
by Charles Bukowski:
“I fall into it without trying…”.
And thought to myself,
there’s no point bitching
about bad luck and bad people.
It’s just a splash in the ocean.
A kind of out-of-sight dreaming,
always present, but for the eyes
of other people.
A Wandering Poet 