I
at night

there’s a hustler
on every street corner
it’s kinda creepy how
they always know
the women that is
too late now
the trap is a trip
set and sprung
dancing yet again
with mistakes like ghosts
at night i had visions of them
haunting refusing
to let me sleep
later dreams arrived
corrupt cops psychiatrists
drugs and institutions
some cataclysm that backed up
traffic and cut phone lines
no communication
killed the big cities

II
fresh from sleep

sunrise with a cat meowing
it was just a dream after all
sitting at a littered desk
i forgot my coffee
and reached for an empty beer
habit
all i need is a judo chop
and a prayer
still fresh from sleeping
thinking writing
maybe all these
cellphones computers
electromagnetic waves
are putting holes in my brain
but after a night of bordom
it feels good to
write about nothing again
it’s still not complete though
i always thought that
like Bukowski i’d
try my hand at it
then retire for 20 years
only to be reborn
somehow it never works out
the way you plan