distillate
no poems today
never enough sleep
and no woman in my bed
settled and scaled down
i’ve got a headache that won’t quit
cold coffee
no inspection on my car, and
too many hours to work this week

no wine
no time
left,
right,
or wrong
with a slightly different song
say something profound
something like
life is bound
by the intricate
uncertainties we weave
there, all better
but no, not really
i guess this is a poem
one of the strangest i’ve written
a reflection of the times, i suppose

i wonder if anyone actually reads
these lunatic rants posed
in the guise of poetry
i’d like to think i have an audience
but one never knows
i have a new book coming out soon
still so many poems to choose from
and luckily
they keep coming
slower now
and not as interesting
but
it’s still there
i saved a little spark
just like bukowski said

i’ve been home sick for three days
locked within my own drab mind
and now
i have to return to the real world
just as drab, but not as divine
and as always the kitty sits in my lap
as i write this,
some things never change
and at least we can always count on that