verily as i sit here
an exercise in automatic writing
in the vain of all those dada artists before me
i sit
and compose
and i wonder
oh how lucky i am
that amongst the marvel of the present
amidst the bone and sinew of my hand
i possess still the ability to type
and to see the beauty
in the real and in the unreal
like those many in my past
oh how lucky i am
and i wonder
just how many before me have loved
in that same way that only i
have loved
loved the feeling of fingers and keyboards
and of cookies in my mouth
and of music in my ears
oh how lucky i am
to be in love
with a woman
a woman as real as me and you
and although she is not here
with me
in this moment
she exists as i imagine her
like the fleeting image of a siren in the sea spray
and i write
oh how lucky i am
and i gaze past my bare legs onto the floor
the floor of my room and i wonder
oh how lucky i am
oh how lucky i am
in love with the image of a coke can
like so many andy warhols before me
and i stare into his sunglasses
on the poster next to my bed
that i got at the art institute of chicago
and i wonder
oh how lucky i am