Thirty-three years ago

Blue Piscean
From out the
The murky gray,
Staring sideways,
Not ahead,
Or back,
He hovers on the afternoon
Of his life,
Waiting, watching,
Wondering if each day
Will be like this day,
Knowing its alll the same,
He hangs, suspended,
By the weight of life,
In water as cold
As his blood.
And he broods.
1973