He’s a half-man.
He’s half the man he was promised to be.
He’s a walking-lie-ever-changing-anthropomorphic half-man, yet nothing wrong ever comes out, not a word or a syllable judged evil.
He’s a saint-man, the half-man. No shadow that he can’t cast, though he always remains the half-man, no matter the form taken.
He’s a lioness, he’s a waitress, sometimes he’s the maester, sometimes the faithful pupil, and few times he’s also just himself:
half full or half empty cup of a man.
He dives deep into the sidewalk whenever a social fear he can’t cope tempts him to flee.
He’s a half-man,
a man charges,
he’s only paid not to look,
not to say a word, to abide by
He kills, the half-man, a blind man, not knowing what or who, yet he listens every time for the snapping sound of a life torn out of pages.
He’s always gun-naked, not a pistol nor a knife, armed with his social fears only, his bear-hairy shapeshifting hands awaiting orders.
He’s a fool, the half-man, the saint-man, the gun-naked man.
He’s a paid man, paid not to look, not to think a word of his own, paid to abide, to
He’s a listening man, songs of cries and silences sang at the corners behind the dumpsters where he snuggly hides and learns.
He’s unwise, the half-man, blind by the wage for the wage, abiding by the wage for the wage and to calm his own social fears.
He’s a concept man, an idea not fully realised, an empty promise of a man too deep to be handheld.
He’s a wordless man, unable to form new sentences, a worthless man, stealing words for survival.
He’s a writer, the half-man, fuelled by doubt and social entrust, capable only of
“paraphrasing the unbroken steps that dare walk by him everyday on the sidewalk.”
He’s a wage man, the half-man, paid not to look, to write about
cliché noir guilt.
He’s but a blind fool, not listening, not truly, not daring, not really, unwise, not chasing for the one thought of his own.
He’s a drowning man,
blank pages soaking wet in a storm of questions not his own to answer,
and when the rains and thunderous fears and all the killing
will he know how to swim back up to the sidewalk?