Dust

Searching for crumbs
between the empty trash bins,
he remembers his early days.
Then, he had his independence,
provisions were never scant.
He could more than live
on a doctor's wages.

It was like this for a long time,
until he tried the stuff.
At first, it brought him ecstasy
and nirvana at the croft.

A few friends intervened;
the asylum did their part.
Yet he still could not
practice his art
for the thing,
the stuff
the dust,
had set in.