I'm not heartless, I've just learned to use my heart less

so stubborn,
and generous,
it falls
            drop by drop,
it falls
          in the battle like kings,
bringing (us) tears for a feast

The debris and quagmire
    the remnants of past time
    let's mould them to our fashion
   for a meaningful outcome-

   nothing shall be lost
   if to nothing we succumb
   from ashes springs the phoenix
   the basest can be made sublime.

within a starlit valley
a thousand miles away
the omnipotence of distance
broods a lonesome song
an echo of his vacant heartbeat
reverberates without embrace
humbling his lofty thoughts
as he dreams of his wishful place
within a starlit valley
a million miles away

All the hard
times prepared me
for this.
The hopeless
times, black sun
sadness.
The long seasons of
madness.
Starving, like a
winter tomcat.

The hospital stays.
Jails and psych wards.
The fist fights under
bridges.
Midnight swims, drunk in
the Iowa River,
not drowned, only out
of spite.
All of this, and
much more got
me ready for this.

I’m sitting up in bed.
It’s 5:00 AM.
My three cats chase
each other, like
lovers in spring.
I’ve been sober
for almost two years.
I even quit smoking
cigarettes.
I’m writing regularly,
and publishing much
of it.
It’s mostly well received
worldwide.
I’m sipping a hot cup
of coffee.
It’s from Sumatra and has
notes of herbs and earth.

I look at the pictures of
Van Gogh and
Hemingway above my
antique maple desk,
as I listen to Mozart.
A writer needs four walls.
I have so much more,
children
wisdom
cats
and gratitude, the most
important thing I
found.