I'm not going to write tonight
I thought I might but there's nothing left inside of me,and
nothing there that I can see,can use and so I sit and lose myself in conversation with some long lost place that I can't place where faces from the distant past pass by and say, hello to me,
a place where conversation's free and small talk is the currency,I've spilled my pens in drinking dens and ****** I've had a plenty, but not for forty years or more,I knew I'd been here once before,
when I thought that I might write but never did and so put the lid back on the well, where inks are brewed deep in this hell and sometime when I climb out of the shell I hide beneath,
I think I'm back there on the wild and windy heath with nothing left inside of me,and
she, who is nine tenths my inspiration and one tenth sweat and dedication stands beside me using words for currency,I see her now against the moonlight,I thought that I might write tonight
but it seems it's not to be.