portrait of the poet as an empty vessel

imagine, if you will

a picture frame without

a picture

across the room, in the reflection

of his mirror

the picture frame now

contains a faded, gaudy painting

two pictures that thrust the viewer into

the ego fight zone—


I was a sleeping lion

laughy Daffy Duck

The Silver Surfer

an angry young buck

selfish super dooper

the envy cup so full

I floated downstream in a mug

as someone else turned the spoon

one of the limbo bimbo lost souls

wearing nothing but

expensive shoe soles


scowl me a smile, Troy

sour me awhile, boy


burning embers sparked

a coaster

the best of it flamed to me

and I have become a great actor

I am the great sneaker deaker—

but you can’t fake spirit

you can’t hide your voice


I am a feeling

of light

I am a breath

of dust


alas, my lass says

I am no one

going nowhere

with nothing


I love that faded, gaudy painting

those shoes, my ego

this is the ego fight zone—

the true self

is the picture frame

without a picture


imagine, if you will, that

I am happy as

an empty vessel

I am an empty vessel


About troysherdahl

A blue-collar bohemian with a penchant for fine words and dirty jeans.
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