the glass clicks twice against an empty wine bottle
full red, head, full of nascent dreams
i grabbed the wrong glass(the empty one)
and  it’s too cold on this warm december night
i’m almost too tired to write
yet here here i am
not quite midnight
struggling by candlelight

i want to retire
but i’m too young to die
as cracks suddenly appear
in this cabalistic suit of armor

presented as a sinful, soulful,
slayer of spirit
i’ve composed more nonsense in the last ten minutes
within this common brain
than most of you have in an entire lifetime

banged and bruised
waiting for obscurity to pass
waiting for  glory
oh how we jump
through hoops of elastic simplicity
as the last sip a fine wine
is shared with the scratching madnesses
of two young cats

summer books are read
like delicious payloads
that fulfill salvaged conditions
as golden gods live vicarious lives
through popular memes
gathering obvious metadata
through secular schemes

still ugly
i write what i feel
and what i feel is real
tainted by the indiscretions
of a whimsical life
spread thin, on the wind
of square categories

what can i say
the grasses are grey
as gentle hearts betray
souls composed of honest disarray
i love alliteration
yet it always ends the same
with a black and white kitten
eternal, and curled in my lap
soft kisses that could end the best of days
purring, and waiting for me to tell a new story