If our lives were like a dueling match, we would be the perfect partners. You can deflect every move I make. We'd be dancing th same dance, always, and neither of us would win.

Seats sat around standing tables
void of conversation,
whilst waitresses danced around the homeless
clearing up their desperation with no fuss-
just a cloth wipe across the surface
and a smile to a lonely face;
hard wood walls closed in like
coffin-lid, coffin-hinged cases.

One man alone in the corner held hands with his coffee cup and looked up hoping for familiar faces.

And his finger snapped around the rim,
for this cup of coffee
was his only drink of the day.

And his fingers broke around its handle,
for this cup of coffee
was his wick and leathered-spine candle.

And his fingers melded to the cup,
because this cup of coffee
burnt like coughed-up cigarette ****-stubs.

She was everything he was not
He was everything she wanted
She was a nervous wreck
he was too, but in denial
She wanted to save him
from not wanting to be saved
He wanted to protect her
from whatever might come
they were young
and yes,
they were stupid too
just like everybody else
She went away
He stayed a hometown boy
who wasn't at home
She could sing
He could listen
she was a wild child
looking for a port to settle
he was a nice guy
looking for something
not so nice
children of divorce
kindled a feeling of
let's make this work no matter what
and maybe it won't
they don't seem to care
too many romcoms
and too many chipped shoulders
all they wanted
was to write
their own love story

And I saw spectres sway
in smoke and smog,
hazy gray, secretive fog.

And from the wings
of the checkerboard dance floor,
I stood, saw and adored.

And in fine finesse, finish and form,
you tore me up from the dance floor depth
and whispered odes I shall never forget.

*And what fools we were for not saying yes.
I am sorry.

Without question
my favorite instrument
would have to be my
electronic Brother typewriter
The chattering of the keys
and the punching of letters
become the melody
of whatever I'm feeling
whether it comes
fast and furious
or slow and pensive
it always knows
what I'm trying to say
and don't get me wrong
I love a good six string
and ivory and ebony keys
may equate to beauty
but they don't compare
to my instrument
It's ancestors graced
by some of the greatest players
to walk this earth
complete with a handle
so that I never have to leave it behind
to me,
there is no music sweeter
than the stories which erupt
from my favorite instrument