to run away.
In trying to remain inscrutable,
you make it so your own gaze is as plain,
you look twice at every surface,
a sidelong view to hint at
a desire requited.
Words to cajole the man
only bear their weight on those who speak them.
He thinks himself a vagabond,
as hapless of self
as his own conceit would allow.
To want to disappear,
he thinks rightfully
by rare sunlight and rolling scenery,
is its own vanity.
Through a train window,
the man considers:
his mother's maiden name,
the sophistry of people he's wronged.
Choosing to remain miserable.