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.

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.

Love
Is just a seemingly beautiful
Excuse
For delusion.

Love
Is just a seemingly pleasurable
Feeling
To fill our empty souls.

Love
Is for
Fools.

my soul has
grown tired
and functioning
has become hard
I'm like a broken
machine
i can function
but i can't do it
right
its broken
the memories of you and i
and when the memories broke
the machine did
now if you didn't understand,
the machine is a metaphor,
and that metaphor,
is me.
i am
the machine.
i am
the metaphor.




m.g.

I wasn't alive when he took
his last breath.
      But I remember all of his words,
And I've never been so moved.

Like the animosity seeping
from his pours
and the faint scent
of liquor on his breath;

It seems like
some things
never
fully
die.