There's a faint
tingling in my
fingers today
and my doctor
who I never visit
says I should lay off the
caffeine
but my fingers are tingling
in beat with the piano
playing in the room
below me
with only my breath as
accompaniment to
the melodies
and all I leave are clouds
of condensation in the air
as evidence of collaboration
where for a moment
I didn't feel so
disconnected

I keep coming back here
because I crave the rush
of putting words down
and pretending they are
totally original all the
while holding casual
disdain for how this
digital medium rewards
punchline after punchline
and punishes exploration
and long winded
discussions about existence
because even art needs to
fit into our busy schedules

My apartment is haunted
by the ghost of Robert Frost
and it's not out of
recognition of poetic ability
but more likely due to
my cat
chewing up an old vinyl record
we found at the thrift store
of him reading his works
and now he wanders the apartment
always around the corner whispering
"Two roads diverged in a yellow wood"
and I tried to ask his permission to use
that line in this
but he doesn't answer me
when I talk to him
but he likes to call my cat
Jerry McCormic
even though her name is Gumbo
and I don't mind having him
around
even though he doesn't do the dishes
and watches TV with the volume way
too loud
but I haven't seen him
around today
and the cat was sad to see him go
or perhaps she's just hungry again
on account of the Ghost of Robert Frost
spoiling her with all those
cat treats

It's too early
for this
there's a kid
whose subwoofers
that keep shaking
the trunk of his '04
Honda Civic
providing a tribal
staccato
a background
trance
to keep me
motivated
as I use a
screwdriver
to pop the latch on my
door for the
third time
this week
because I accidentally
ripped the
door handle off
and
I realize that I
forgot
my coffee on the counter at
home
and I forgot to tell
my cats that I love
them
before I left
and this is
all being obscured
by the threat of
sleep in this parking
lot
because I can never
seem to get to bed
early enough

They say you
can't
truly know somebody
until you
see them
hurt
so I write
these words
and peddle emotional
****
for the lonely ones I'll
never meet
in an effort to
better get to
know myself

I dreamt last
night of a long
lost friend
which was strange
because I hadn't been
drinking
and this friend
talked me out
of suicide
even though I wasn't
considering it
and I almost reached
out to her
when I woke up
but that would
be worse than
suicide

Death my darling
I keep writing you
because I'm finding it
harder
and harder
to talk
to people
and not feel
empty