His mind was
    patch worked duct tape
on the seams of a yellowing couch
  something that burrowed into the background
    a body discolored like an old formica table
that would topple
                    beneath even the slightest weight
                                              too often.

Discolored and unsettled
          nearly balanced on a piece of cardboard
                that must always be adjusted.
    Each bruise is a decade of smoke hazed biker bars
  lucid stupors of apologies or irritability
stuck to the bottom of this ancient surface.
                            Bright pinks and deep blues
                                now dirty and faded;
                      resigned
                  collecting what remains of life
  as dust in falling will grasp at the light
              spark like fire
                      shine like diamonds
        burn like youth.