bad
dreams and nightmares
what
was my last entry?
there
is no sentry
it’s
just moments
and
your mind making moments matter
gone
gathering gooseberries
was
a rhyme someone gave me
creative
writing class
after
which i became alice through the looking glass
down
the rabbit hole
and
all my recent efforts to not drink
didn’t
even make me a contender
three
seconds into the first round
i
hit the ground
no
need for a sucker punch
beer
was not only my lunch
but
breakfast
i
need to be on lock down
far
from the fingers that fondle
the
frosty mug
but
i’m not
and
tonight i didn’t even scowl
i
just threw in the towel
and
opened a beer
i
no longer want to write this book
or
while on the streets take a look
and
write what i see
i
just want to try me
more
than on the verge of sobriety
but
on these streets the only thing i see
is
my reflection in the store front window
holding
a brown paper bag
my
shirt inside out exposing the tag
no
more stories of one night stands
no
more stories of reaching hands
just
the brain cells i can’t seem to destroy
when
i was a boy
i
was going to grow up to be a writer
i
should of dreamt of being someone
who
designs bombs
me
and the world would have
been
so much better off
now
i just cough
as
my lungs protest another cigarette
and
as always i have no point to this poem
my
head is already starting to hurt
and
i’ve barely begun my drinking
oh
why can’t i stop thinking?
and
please let that be
what
happens when we die
a
last sigh
and
all thought just stops
is
it selfish to want to be loved?
is
true happiness being the one who can love
without
needing a return
such
lessons i cannot learn
in
short i have no answers
i’ve
always just been a dancer
waiting
for someone to take my hand
and
show me the moves
and
now everyone thinks i’m crazy
at
least everyone who can hear
as
i scream at the cars careening by
that
the sum of the parts does not equal the whole
there
is nothing that we control
but
we expend to pretend that we do
and
interpret the meanderings of magnetic fields
as
something that yields
motivated
movements measured just for me
where
is the afternoon
when
the room
was
a bed with my nose nestled
in
the fragrance of her hair?
now
i can no longer use the word “care”
as
a rhyme
and
i don’t know why
the
happiness i define
was
that afternoon
before
the previews said, “coming soon”
a
poet who will pogo stick on
the
dark streets of decay
but
i swear on that afternoon i prayed
as
i lifted my head from the pillow
and
looked about her room
the
windows not only covered with shades
but
tinfoil that enhanced the gloom
and
held her body in a spoon
“that
i could be happy here
with
her”
but
there are no gods to answer prayers
and
all my thoughts i am forced to share
with
a universe that laughs
at
the laws of physics
except
the concept that we barely conceive
as
the notion of “random”
i
am not on a tandem, a rant or a rave
i’ve
just gone into an alley
sat
on the side of the dumpster
that
is hidden from the passing street
drawn
in my feet from view
taken
a long swig to swallow
and
found “palisades park”
by
counting crows
on
my mp3
turned
it up so loud
i
can’t hear the world spin
tilt
the bottle
wipe
my chin…
***
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