Walking a back alley
Next to a messy pile
Of autumn-clipped limbs
And leaning against
A broken porcelain toilet
I saw an artist’s canvas
Half finished
Abandoned
When inspiration
Was no longer available
An unfinished
Master-less piece
The technique naive
But vigorous
Who ever started this
Had Muse riding shotgun
But only for a brief time
It only served to remind me
How so much of who we are
Ends up being discarded
While I was only
Short-cutting through an alley
And would soon be back
On my relatively-easy street
There are so many others
Who, like that painting
Have lost their muse
And have been left
Half finished on a garbage heap
Called Humanity