absent poetry
always unfinished
writing pointless lines
as red lights blink in the distance
constant rhythm
seeking to reel me in
blink blink blink
too much time to think

i’m searching for a friend
searching for a lover
searching for something other
than this terrible meaning

i feel as though one more beer will do the trick
but alas
middle age realism sets in
tired and hungry for more
i stretch clumsy fingers
towards an unknown destination
caressing these black keys
like so many dried and dead flowers

and then, as always
this black and white kitten
gives me my answer
passive affection
couched in familiar comfort

soft and tireless
wandering a littered desk
how do these majestic beasts tolerate
such dull insanity?