Opportunities passed by
on roads not taken

supplanted dreams decay
like abandoned motels
rife with rusting signs,
broken neon-script hopes
cracked-concrete dreams

pot-holed asphalt parking
lot rug stitched with weeds

plenty of vacancies


Imperfection should lead
to introspection, but as a
hobby not your vocation

it is no small concession
to make the confession
that I have long since

(with light apprehension)
blithely lived my life minus
much regard for convention