small cheap rooms where you walk
down the hall to the
bathroom can seem romantic to
a young writer.
even the rejection slips are
amusing because you are sure that
you are
one of the best.

but while sitting there
looking across the room
at the portable typer
waiting for you on the table
you are really
in a sense
insane

as you wait for
one more night to arrive to sit and
type Immortal Words--but now you
just sit and think about it
on your first afternoon in a strange city.

looking over at the door you
almost
expect a beautiful woman to walk in.

being young
helps get you through
many senseless and terrible
days.

being old
does
too.

I even hear the mountains
the way they laugh
up and down their blue sides
and down in the water
the fish cry
and the water
is their tears.
I listen to the water
on nights I drink away
and the sadness becomes so great
I hear it in my clock
it becomes knobs upon my dresser
it becomes paper on the floor
it becomes a shoehorn
a laundry ticket
it becomes
cigarette smoke
climbing a chapel of dark vines. . .
it matters little
very little love is not so bad
or very little life
what counts
is waiting on walls
I was born for this
I was born to hustle roses down the avenues of the dead.

the women of the past keep
phoning.
there was another yesterday
arrived from out of
state.
she wanted to see
me.
I told her
"no."

I don't want to see
them,
I won't see them.
it would be
awkward
gruesome and
useless.

I know some people who can
watch the same movie
more than
once.

not me.
once I know the
plot
once I know the
ending
whether it's happy or
unhappy or
just plain
dumb,
then

for me
that movie is
finished
forever
and that's why
I refuse
to let
any of my
old movies play
over and over again
for
years.

I hate my poetry

six word story

( i sat in my shower and cried for two hours and i'm the cleanest i've felt in a while )

Il a dit, "au debut t'etais belle"
- C'est bon de te revoir, répondis-je.

reprends moi. Je veux parler français à nouveau Je veux boire du vin et danser toute la nuit avec toi. Je ne pense pas que je t'ai jamais vraiment laissé partir. Vous avez toujours été avec moi.

My Husband

You reject me
& neglect me

You query me
& you weary me

You control me
& annul me

You coax me
& you hoax me

You disturb me
& perturb me

You vex me
& perplex me

You taunt me
& you haunt me

You ignore me
& you bore me

You blame me
& you shame me

You leave me
& deceive me

You cage me
& enrage me

You invade me
& degrade me

You bait me
& you hate me


My lover

You see me
& you free me

You kiss me
& you miss me

You warm me
& you charm me

You respect me
& protect me

You perceive me
& believe me

You hear me
& endear me

You mend me
& defend me

You delight me
& excite me

You face me
& embrace me

You esteem me
& redeem me

You ease me
& you please me

You know me
& you show me

You romance me
& enhance me

I avoid you so superbly,
My thoughts fly by before I get a chance to try,
And write them down,
Scribble notes on back of receipts,
With four dollars left for a bottle of pop,
The air conditioner turns on,
And my soul jumps,
Maybe flys,
So far out,
I lost it,
I don't know what I love,
I thought it was you,
Sweet sweet words,
That were my own,
Created a Cacoon,
But now I run,
I don't stop to pace,
Back and forth,
Hello Poetry.