Some Questions While Walking In The Boulevard Of Broken Dreams Poem by RIC BASTASA

the roads are many
the house where i live
has all doors open
the windows just the same
i am left with
everyday choosing which
and what and
i have forgotten why
and even how and so the
days became same faces
and everything tastes bland
until i decided to focus on
just one
just one, the one with quality
the one that redeems me
from this state of sameness
and blandness
until i have become myself
sharp and incisive from
all the rest.

who needs fans? these are
the cold times.
who needs coffee? in
the middle of the day?

ah, that cat screaming
on that tin roof
at night looking for its
shadow

ah, that woman mourning
for the dead
on an early morning Sunday
where the best dressed
pass by.

there is his dread of living.
as one gets another dictionary
to redefine what good living is.
what happy death could be.
what journey is this? why did we
not say that all this is but
temporary?