Like half written symphonies I wait for you.

I wait for you
like an empty house
so you come and build yourself
in me.

I wait for you
like the flowers wait for spring
to bring them
back to life.

I wait for you
like the rush of blood
my head needs
to feel alive.

I wait for you
like the warm earth
needs the kiss
of soft rain.

I wait for you
like the souls
that walk this earth
waiting for release.

I wait for you
like the heart
that needs a score
to play.

Like purity for
true love,
I wait for you.

I wait for you.

"I'll wait for you,"
when we were kids,
you had said.

But Jack's still comatose
and Jill is dead.

You never came.

I lose you
like I lose my mind-

effortlessly.

Poets these days
take Bukowski and the Beats
much too seriously
I mean come on
Bukowski is great and all
for a selfish *******
and the if the Beats make your heart beat
well that's just swell
for a group of pretentious purple prosers
and don't point those fingers of outrage at me
my library too is full of them
all I'm saying is
the line between inspiration and imitation
is awfully thin