Im digging through the log
looking for where it started
at least the clean stuff that i didnt delete

im about 200 taps in
"load earlier messages"
is going to haunt me
my dreams
i hope they have a sound track
sugar ray, perhaps

i need to lay my eyes on
the first thing you said to me
with that fancy new number of yours

seriously
ive been doing this for an hour
ive only gotten back to march
MID-MARCH mind you

but if i had to be honest
the suspense IS NOT killing me
with every tap
of that god forsaken roll-over
i get a different glimpse
of how we used to be
and how we are irrefutably now

there are times where you
dont even show up in my dreams
all i find
a black tank top
comfy black ******
a copy of atlas shrugged
and a signed cannibal corpse ticket

and NO
i dont put them in
my dream ***** pack
OR smell them
OR pass them out to strangers

i leave them there
i leave them there because
i know that your coming back for them
you left them under the street light
to let me know that you
are just popping in for a pint
just around the corner

though my first instinct
jealousy of course
might take shape
before i had the chance to
rub my eyes
sober up
and actually have a constructive thought
i have to admit
a creature as perfectly sculpted as yourself
walking clad in nothing more
than an original colored landing strip
into ANY public house
would get a better pour
than the next ten thousand

so i fold your clothes
stack them neatly
where you can find them
find a respectable framing shop in the area
that would still be open this late
frame that ticket
dead center
on black matte of course
and pick up your book
until my eyes are too heavy to wait
and my mouth too dry
to turn the pages
and i lay down
head atop a tank
toes inspecting the texture
of the sidewalk
until i awake

again
alone
and as ardent as ever

The ageless plight of persistant awakening,
Thoughts protruding into my every day,
The restless inner noise of ruminations,
Rustling windy bow-quaking wispers,  remain.

The restling of memory spurs a conversation with the past
Concerning things I have done,
As I recourse for resolution within the recollection.

There will be days where I can't fathom
can't handle
selfish to say but I expect you to be my candle
may you be lit or not
just stay with me.

Send me rockets
let me fill my my pockets with resistance to explode in lights across the desolation of this land of nights
and send me guns to run across the border fence where sits the old guard in defence of this,that once was home.
Send me fire to burn the towns and clowns to laugh like maniacs of which we have become,
and water to flood the thirsts,the first of many and sun to dry the dampened land.
Send me a band of hungry,homeless men then send me stones to build their homes.

Fill my cup up to the brim,let me swm in opulence.

In defiance of the crown I proclaim this town along with others as my property,I demand from them my total liberty,not the washed out freedom that we think as being free where rich men with their plaudits try to laud it over me and put me down
This is my town,my land,my band of disaffected vagabonds and to set the record straight,we're going to take it back,
we're going to attack the citadels,we the infidels are going to tear them brick by brick,we're going to make them sick of us
we're going to make them go.

No muses need apply.
There are no vacancies.
The muse pool is brimming
With metaphors:

     They are thieves
     In the night,
     Absconding stars
     Of time and direction.

No muses need apply
To classifieds calling
To The Lonely Hearts,
Whose term has expired.

     SWM desiring SWF
     for Pina Colada.
     Cave optional.

Lonliness has carried them
To the gates, where
Lonliness awaits.

No. No muses neep apply.
Notes no longer passed
Between rows
In copy-book pages,
Where a returned smile
Meant Sarturday night.

No muses need apply.
Eyes have dried.
No more similies
As you depart,
No figures of speech
From muted heart.
You have left,
And that's a start.

No muses need apply.