Him, Then

He was now someone else.

The back of his head was
the bulb of a cactus.
He wore monk robes,
glided. 

Not literally;
this was how he felt.

He still drank lots of water,
had the same pounding heart
when he ran.

He still sold himself,
but was a whole different product–
at least that was his
marketing campaign.

The songs that had moved him
thudded like falling birds.
Explain that.

He had slid a glass door
across a threshold.
What they thought of as flying,
he thought of as rain.

He nailed plywood
behind the glass door,
ordered from the internet.

The other wall was open.
The woods were a carousel
of shadows;
the shadows were doors.

He came and went until lost.

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