3 am

Shhhh
the rustling of the reeds
in the barren room
means depravity
has peaked.

Silent tiptoe toward the lav
to dispose of the days'
dally.
Do not disturb
the other -
asleep
like earth
and grave.

Smoke calms the nerves
and makes the dead
sleep sounder.

Clothed in vice
I wander the halls
at 3 am.

Post Traumatic Nostalgia

I just finished watching
a movie that used to move me to tears.
It almost still does.
Everything is so nice in the end,
so simple.
Beautiful wrapping and
a bright red bow.

But then you turn it off
and turn around
and see all the crap
you should pick up off the floor.
Still don't have a job
and the rent is due.
It is gray
and the movies lie.

Where did it all go?
When did we stop forsaking
all the doldrums
to focus on the possibility of
something.
Anything.

At one point or another
we died inside.
Dying:
The last real thing to look forward to.

When did we forget that we are dying?
Forget that in light of dying
a man should get living
and find the truth
that was once so unflinchingly
important.

Tomorrow
I have to go to the store.
We need groceries.
Something has to give
before there is nothing
left.

I'm ashamed to admit it but...

I am in love with a married, mother of two.
A caustic wit and a crystal eye
and skin that melts across ivory bone.
When she serves my drinks I would they tasted like her
and I think she knows or has been told.
I try not to covet but forgive me I falter
as her small frame and wrists and crystal eyes float above the
mahogany.
I don't usually put them up there,
up on the shelf where guests can admire
but this one, this one is an explosive.

I hope that they send me pardons for feeling
such a shameful thing.
But this married mother of two,
too late for me,
has a lover
should a divorce
go through.

Frigidaire rare

I am clinging to the cotton.
Sitting in a chair barely holding together.
I hate the cold air,
when you step outside you shrink into a twisted mess,
old beyond your years,
just trying to cling to the cotton.

What nonsense.

Somehow poetry is grander when
you hate someone or miss someone -
either way.
I don't miss anyone and hating people
just makes me look foolish because
no matter how much I hate
there will always be a greater number of
those who hate me more.

I am thinking of a woman.
A young woman.
She lives around the corner and
for whatever reason I
think of her.
She doesn't make any sense
and I think she might be insane.

On second thought
maybe she is just my type.
If it aint broke...

I bet she clings to cotton too.