I sit in a room with a view. Dripping wet with the sweat of another **** nightmare. There was this girl and she wanted to give me love. Something I just can't accept. Why does she always visit me in the night? If she only knew how I felt. What I was. She would not be here lying next with me; a liar, a thief, a breaker of hearts and promises. I am selfish destroyer of all things beautiful. Was in Kansas City once, a person I met in an elevator told me how beautiful the city was. I wanted to see what they saw. All I saw was burnt out buildings, grown over ivied walls. There were abandoned cars and shopping cart houses. Beautiful not a word I can describe from the memory of my own eyes. When I hear it I think of childbirth, of meadows in far away spaces, places I could only read about in national geographic. I have seen the pictures. They are beautiful. They are honest. They are not inside this room. They are outside far away from me but next to you. I search for a towel to wipe away this pain dripping off my face. I pray for help. I pray for something meaningful. Something a little more beautiful

Chunks of meat
ground heated
on medium
until browned
strained then set aside.
tomatoes stewed
basil and oregano
onion first
then garlic sauteed
Water brought to boil
salt added then noodles
8 minutes to al dente.
combine all three
bring to simmer
Serve with bread and salad
dinner

She was more a figment than a remnant
the dark shadow at the edge of the bed
With each passing day it was apparent
insecurity found company inside my head
the dark shadow at the edge of the bed
a shape formed out of forgotten wants
the girl found company inside my head
Whispering softly her nocturnal taunts
Shapes forming out of forgotten wants
Impulses that should have long been dead
Whispering softly her nocturnal taunts
Insomnia  for the sins I committed
Impulses that should have long been dead
With each passing day its apparent
retribution for the sins I've committed
She stays more a figment than a remnant

So I’m sitting in this dark room, smoking cigarette after cigarette after cigarette. Staring at the pile of mail on the table. Left behind junkmail, junk that I have to answer, his junk. But then again I am wearing his clothes, his shoes, Christ, This might even be his bathrobe. Moved in on another mans turf, or am I just keeping the seat warm? So he can go sow his oats, sleep with some secretary or ******, do fat lines of whatever, never having to check in while checking out . I remember I think , what that used to be like, to be free of things, things like commitment, things like meeting your obnoxious co workers at the bar, And not the cool downtown bar with its dim light, backbooths and jukebox full of blues, The uptown one with the yuppies and their bluetooths and never ending vain chatter. Things like love, things like forgetting that your favorite color is yellow, not mustard yellow but bright ******* canary yellow. The yellow that reminds me of bathroom stalls and jailhouse walls, and all those, late late night trips to the E.R.. Things like time , Remember that time when You said “lets take it slow “ Then the next morning you wrote I love you on the mirror in Red lipstick. Should have been a stop sign, a flag ,******* warning, right there. Things like Freedom, The freedom to fly away, To escape, to set sail. To be free like that B.M.W. on the autobahn, in the commercial, aimed at the friends, with the Bluetooth surrounded by yellow walls that sing those blues, To be free But then who would be wearing our clothes ,our shoes ,Christ, even our bathrobe, Hell who would even answer the mail.

We are born slabs and boulders
Jagged pieces of hardened granite
Stone from abstract to statuesque
Sweat pours from fingers calloused.
the Hammer finds its mark repeatedly
As Chisel finds soft spots in vains
chipped imperfections show character
for once what was shapeless takes form.
completion always behind schedule
as labors toil makes skill set decrease
Hardly ever satisfied with results end
still each of us our own masterpiece

immediately did i recognize
mirrors filled with loneliness and hunger
cold blue stammering had me mesmerized
oh boy what they must have been like younger
i wish i could have stared at them longer
before the world blackened a little blank
dulled just a bit, shade grey out of anger
some things other than hearts and ankles break
so from this brief passing glance did i take

Where have all the Juliet’s gone.
The princess' to rescue, the maids to save.
A woman’s gift use to be so more defined.
As was the part I had to play.
Not that I was a very good actor.
Was never much of a factor on the main stage?
If I could go back to the days of Arthur, when chivalry was alive.
Joust with evil princes and slay fire breathing dragons
to ride, on an steed through the meadows and dales.
Listening to minstrels sing my story accompanied by a lyre.
Guinevere wouldn't run from this mans passion.
Exalibur would be pulled from the stone.
Alas I live in the technology age the dark ones are well past gone.
What is good for only some, never ever lasts.
I still have my pen which lets me sit and fret
and lament for a sweet Juliet.