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Throughout the asphalt inner city core, the struggles for attainment and success are hemmed in clutter and the crowded floor, the fear of losing driven by noblesse. The workers in this hive with deft command can navigate the paper and the pace, they know that only rested minds can stand the pressures of the job and making chase. On weekends these marauders slow it down, they make their way to open space, withdrawn from paper jungles or the tux and gown, and search for solitude and dreams foregone. 
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Suitably quiet, he succeeds in blending in, quite invisible, while he waxes nonchalant. Indeed, he'd rather be anything but recognized, just another sapling camouflaged by the forest. Every now and then he is freed from his cocoon and shows brilliantly his talent for spectacle, as crippling stage fright releases its hold on him ever so slightly. Whispers become raucous songs, telling the world, "Look at me!" 
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AuthorJack has published over 350 poems in his career, many with his own photography. He specializes in a view of the commonplace and Americana. Archives
January 2021
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