When I was  
younger,
I had to learn
sit and wait to  
write.  
I  would get
impatient and force it.
If you read it,
you could tell.
Now I’m quite a bit older, and
I quit trying.
Fodder seems to be  
everywhere.
I can write about
the most mundane
things.
Today I’m at the  
library waiting for my
girlfriend to
finish up at the dentist.
She’s getting her  
teeth cleaned.
All my drinking ruined  
my teeth.
When I got them  
pulled a year ago,
there wasn’t a  
good tooth in my head.
I have dentures now, so
I don’t have to  
worry about how much I drink.
I know this isn’t a
very good poem, but
hey,
there she is
all shiny and bright…  
and sober.

Sometimes when I'm tired,
I'll think that I don't want to exist
This life is suffering, striving,
And why should I continue
I hate the life I've made.

But there are other things
There are dreams
There is presence
There is support
There is beauty

When I'm in these things,
I don't think life is suffering.
I think issues can be managed
I don't think, really.
I just love.

I never learned to weep
But ground my eyes down
On the griststone of a mill
Turned sadness into powder
Then choked on my own weaponized sorrow.