constrained by cat bowls

it’s cold, it’s dark, it’s wet

and i’m walking

these are the kind of nights

werewolves come out and play

 

but werewolves never get to live

happily ever after

 

not going to the river

good for the soul

bad for the liver

 

but just can’t find a way to get there

so going where the train will take me

a couple counties away

 

new bookstores

different bars

 

i won’t be gone long

be back in time to refill

the cat bowl

before she can empty it

 

i was contacted about entering

a writing contest

i do have reams of papers

filled with words

 

plenty to submit

but i just don’t care

to garner prestige and reward

with my words

 

that’s not the point to my writing

in fact that there is no point

is the point to my writing

so i have no desire to do more then write

 

not be everyone’s delight

behind a podium

on a tuesday night

people pretending

they know what i am talking about

when i would just be scanning

the people in their chairs

looking for one set of eyes

that could really care

 

and wake up with me

on a rooftop of hinges

give me a reason

to stop all these binges

 

oh well i’m not going to make the effort

i just don’t want to

i don’t write for notoriety

 

usually when i wake up

i have to look over the paper

to see what the hell i even wrote

the night before

 

on either side of the door

i write do not enter

only a sledge hammer will splinter

the wood and the frame

but i’m not after fame

 

just to write without all the blame

that will be leveled by the believers

who believe that their thing is the thing

but their thing is never me

 

***