Abandoned

I'd like to think if I
was hung out to dry
without any clear idea
of when I'd be taken down
and cared for again
I might be able to maintain
the look of composure, dignity,
resignation, serenity,
that this equally bookish guy has
but I fear I wouldn't
come anywhere near
such noble behaviour. I'd bawl,
cry out in pain, rail
against the injustice of it all,
give in, crumble, wither,
die...

but if I was saved
and landed on my feet
I bet (revenge is sweet?)
I'd want to beat
the shit out of those
who'd left me high
and dry, wouldn't I?




This man is made of books
and is making an exhibition of himself
at this gallery.