Zoom in on smoke, microscopic ashtray.

Look in on the life of another

Through the grey, drinking coffee

Blowing clouds away, and look to see

If I can see a figure or two

In the soft outlines of definition

 

From me to them

As light blurs slightly

And I dream of what they’ll do

When they get home, I cough lightly

To disguise my fatigue

From a lady crossing, I want to make

a good impression.

 

Is that all she can see

An impression of me

Through the grey

A faint outline of something in her mind

That she thought she had seen

But it quickly went away

 

I hardly know myself these days.

These days of mind numbing obscurity

As I try to be something

That I am not, I am not something,

But maybe through the grey

I can be a magician

For a while