I read that he lost a suitcase full of manuscripts on a
train and that they never were recovered.
I can't match the agony of this
but the other night I wrote a 3-page poem
upon this computer
and through my lack of diligence and
practice
and by playing around with commands
on the menu
I somehow managed to erase the poem
forever.
believe me, such a thing is difficult to do
even for a novice
but I somehow managed to do
it.

now I don't think this 3-pager was immor-
tal
but there were some crazy wild lines,
now gone forever.
it bothers more than a touch, it's some-
thing like knocking over a good bottle of
wine.

and writing about it hardly makes a good
poem.
still, I thought somehow you'd like to
know?

if not, at least you've read this far
and there could be better work
down the line.

let's hope so, for your sake
and
mine.

the lady has me temporarily off the bottle
and now the pecker stands up
better.
however, things change overnight--
instead of listening to Shostakovich and
Mozart through a smeared haze of smoke
the nights change, new
complexities:
we drive to Baskin-Robbins,
31 flavors:
Rocky Road, Bubble Gum, Apricot Ice, Strawberry
Cheesecake, Chocolate Mint...

we park outside and look at icecream
people
a very healthy and satisfied people,
nary a potential suicide in sight
(they probably even vote)
and I tell her
"what if the boys saw me go in there? suppose they
find out I'm going in for a walnut peach sundae?"
"come on, chicken," she laughs and we go in
and stand with the icecream people.
none of them are cursing or threatening
the clerks.
there seem to be no hangovers or
grievances.
I am alarmed at the placid and calm wave
that flows about. I feel like a ***** in a
beauty contest. we finally get our sundaes and
sit in the car and eat them.

I must admit they are quite good. a curious new
world. (all my friends tell me I am looking
better. "you're looking good, man, we thought you
were going to die there for a while...")
--those 4,500 dark nights, the jails, the
hospitals...

and later that night
there is use for the pecker, use for
love, and it is glorious,
long and true,
and afterwards we speak of easy things;
our heads by the open window with the moonlight
looking through, we sleep in each other's
arms.

the icecream people make me feel good,
inside and out.

when i was lost

you taught the trees

to speak

so they could guide me

until

the sun

came up

You know you can't trust anything,
Or anyone
And I guess I should have learnt by now,
But I guess pain and hurt is never too much.

Everyone needs to find their way,
Through the screams and the cries,
The silence and the goodbyes,
It may seem like I'm talking straight into walls sometimes:
I just need something to lean on,
Something to steady me while I'm still awake.

I try to find comfort in people I've never met,
Things that also can never really help me,
Not physically bad things though,
So people never see my heartache as strong enough,
It's just time to find a willow tree to weep and wallow under.

These things and these people,
I guess I'm naturally inclined to grasp to,
Except in this world nothing is perfect
Because that's reserved for earned peace with God
So here we get things we don't deserve,
Because perfection's what we crave we pretend it exists
In these things, these ways, these people.

But people (and things, methods) they let you down,
And they don't have to be sorry,
Repentance to other human beings doesn't change anything,
Especially when they continue with the same cruel things,
Even though they know they are unforgivable.

You know you can't trust anything,
Or anyone
And I guess I should have learnt by now,
But I guess pain and hurt is never too much.

People can always let you down,
I don't like saying it
Even if you don't quite believe it
But they have let me down,
And still I keep on going,
Letting it happen again,
But people deserve forgiveness
And not to be judged by actions they didn't commit.
One mans sins are not all of his generations.

It's easier to hope that people can change
When you have never been around them,
Yet are still too emotionally connected
To join the others in their march of distaste.
I know I partly agree with them,
But I wouldn't go that far,
I wouldn't wish someone dead
I hope no matter what they've done.

Then there's that someone that you know,
Whose done things that are far more innocent,
But you can't bare to think about it
So you go to what you can handle,
Back to those things that steady you,
Just as you feel you're falling.
Then you sit there as you're crying,
Or maybe not at all but the silence is still painful
And you realise you're left with nothing at all.

Many times I feel there's nothing left,
That can make this all go away,
No clean slate,
Sometimes I have thought I'd lost my way,
Then I was shown it again
Except I don't want to follow,
I'd rather just pause,
I may not cry that much
But I don't need to
Just to know that this can really **** hurt.

Things get broken
Hearts
Minds
It's no-one's fault
It never is
Not really
Butter fingers and distraction
Without malice or forethought
Things
Like hearts and minds
Slip
And shatter on hard contact with reality

                                By Phil Roberts

Hey there mister tin man, could you make time for a shattered heart? I've been looking to trade mine for armor like yours. Word on the street is that you've been looking for a heart. Trust me darlin, I promise you that you don't want a heart. You say that you just want love. You ain't missing nothing, because love is so **** hard. You can take mine if ya want it; it's in pieces now. I'm glad we talked this out. If you don't mind the scars, you give me your armor, you can have my heart.