sometimes i see him on a street

in a magazine, on a television,

in a coffee shop, on a billboard,

in a car, on a beach, in a dream


but i know it is not him, it can not be him,

it is someone who reminds me of him

or pieces of him, tiny remnants of him

because he was shattered, fragmented,

unfinished, hoping for near-completion


«fragmentos» sur une côte en europe

a specter

a wraith that floated in & out

of my life, others’ lives

never committing to one, lying to another,

dissembling all, deluding him self


because he was merely a shadow

a fragmented soul that could not mend

and eventually melted away, far away,

and ejected to another realm,

to another pseudo-reality afar


what shreds of him left in my mind

become disclosed on random faces, at familiar places, in empty spaces

vaguely familiar, faintly similar, incredibly peculiar,

but it is not him, it can not be him, he was never him self

the one i remembered did not have enough courage nor strength nor fortitude


because i saw a fragile creature encasing shards

of troubled fragments embracing delusions,

exclusions, illusions, omissions, and filled with

crocodile tears, incredible brilliance, monumental fears,

splintered madness, forfeited happiness, broken dreams


so, i paid the penalty fee, forgave the pointless pain, forgot that distant heartache

now, i only see shadows and silhouettes and wisps of that intertwined spirit

perhaps watching over me, any where, any time, any how, any way

and maybe haunting me, some where, some time, some how, some way

but this fantasma is never unnerving nor threatening to me, but it is circulating me and it is fragmented


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