He is waiting for someone to come along
and sweep him off his feet
into the dustbin where he belongs.
He knows that his skin is his
but it’s always felt like it was cut for someone else
so he shifts in it,
surprised that he managed to find a shirt that got anywhere close to fitting.


He is keeping his eyes open for a revolution
but he doesn’t know which direction it might be coming from
or if it’ll even bother to show this side of his lifetime.


He saw ‘Waiting for Godot’ once and felt like,

for the first time,

that someone knew him
but that was a long time ago now
and none of his friends seem to get it
in quite the way he does.


He is not expecting anyone to turn up with the answers
to his psychic crises

but he has never been able to shake the feeling that salvation
is just around the corner
wearing a florescent jacket
and carrying a bundle of bin-bags
full of all the secrets of the universe

and even though he knows that he is probably wrong
he is more than willing to wait.


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