There is an enchanting place
Timeless in the forever of the night
Where stars shine in unclear skies,
the moon is radiant,
celestial light permeate the shadows, exhaling twilight.
And in this place of the past, present, and future,
in the drunken haze where I am drunk enough,
but not too drunk,
to write,
I live.

This room of mine; temporarily,
ephemerally inhabited with my presence,
mingled with the shadows of chai, whiskey, and cinnamon,
in the clutter of my discordance.

A dimly lit chandelier embraces the darkness dancing along the windows absent of moonlight.

Rivers of cold spirits and hot tea flow into images of paths taken and not,
cigarette smoke billows into shifting semblances of possible futures..

and my eyes close to hear the whispers of my mind,
(Telling me to build something)
and my eyes close to listen to the desires of my heart,
(Yelling at me to run away far from here)
And my eyes close, unsure if I want them to open again,
(Knowing that if you were here, I would know where to go).

if you’re going to try, go all the
way.
otherwise, don’t even start.

if you’re going to try, go all the
way. this could mean losing girlfriends,
wives, relatives, jobs and
maybe your mind.

go all the way.
it could mean not eating for 3 or
4 days.
it could mean freezing on a
park bench.
it could mean jail,
it could mean derision,
mockery,
isolation.
isolation is the gift,
all the others are a test of your
endurance, of
how much you really want to
do it.
and you’ll do it
despite rejection and the
worst odds
and it will be better than
anything else
you can imagine.

if you’re going to try,
go all the way.
there is no other feeling like
that.
you will be alone with the
gods
and the nights will flame with
fire.

do it, do it, do it.
do it.

all the way
all the way.
you will ride life straight to
perfect laughter,
it’s the only good fight
there is.

the house next door makes me
sad.
both man and wife rise early and
go to work.
they arrive home in early evening.
they have a young boy and a girl.
by 9 p.m. all the lights in the house
are out.
the next morning both man and
wife rise early again and go to
work.
they return in early evening.
By 9 p.m. all the lights are
out.

the house next door makes me
sad.
the people are nice people, I
like them.

but I feel them drowning.
and I can't save them.

they are surviving.
they are not
homeless.

but the price is
terrible.

sometimes during the day
I will look at the house
and the house will look at
me
and the house will
weep, yes, it does, I
feel it.

Hushed words and whispered promises
spiral softly through the dark of night,
intertwining among the foundations of carefully built walls..

Remnants lay around us
(marking our grave)
torn asunder in loves cataclysm,
unearthed skeletons,
embrace in moonlit darkness

Surrounded by their presence
Breathing in the moment
Holding it in under a starry sky
Praying to gods they don't believe in
To never let go.