She left me with a bouquet of
flowers that never bloomed,
and a muse with bleeding
verses that never rhymed

At nights when her name
is dancing on my tongue,
I hunger for the cherries
she once promised to feed me

the joker hid the river's whispering
under a blanket of girls, imprint faces
in a forgotten manner, joker smiled

a joker can put on a thief's smile
iceblue talk, straight from the dead
in a time lapse, joker dealt the cards

underworld creatures were filling the bar
they bowlering, deeply engaged in themselves
in a time lapse, goons ordered whisky

hollerings of massive gold bracelets
a crow, a rack or a bible, choose
in a forgotten manner, they did business

Am i a drug,
People just continue to use me.

Is a poet still a poet
If they do not write?

A journal gathering dust,
But a yearning to write.
Am I still a poet
Without my inner light?

Not everything needs a poem
Sometimes
it’s already

good enough.