<\/p>\n
it’s never final
\nthe great light of morning
\ncrawled over the horizon
\nsetting the treetops ablaze
\nas secrets lie in wait
\nthe radio is down-tempo and distant
\nwith too much drama
\nfor daytime television
\nthey came out
\nquestioning
\nsad eyes and dull words
\nhung on their lips
\nthe bored, the lonely
\nthe uninspired, accompanied by
\na carousel of women<\/p>\n
with arthritis and moving pictures
\nhands hung heavy as
\nwords circled endlessly
\nuninspired by beer
\nand short of breath
\ni forgot the line i came up with last night
\nthe advice of great writers
\nis to carry a notebook
\nwith you
\neverywhere you go
\nbut i carry a gun
\nand the notebook lies dusty
\non the dashboard of my car
\nbecause these themes
\nare all are simple and unchanged<\/p>\n
winter was short this year
\nlate, yet terrifying
\ni could sleep at any moment
\nbut traffic and reheated coffee
\nkeep me going
\ntoo tough to find a way out
\na kick in the balls
\nit was futility that lingered
\nsomehow writing is easier
\nthan ripping off old band aids
\nbarely held to the skin
\nthere are just too many subtle
\nhuman cues in verbal communication
\nso much is left unfinished
\nand sometimes i light
\ntheir half smoked cigarettes
\nafter they leave<\/p>\n
some cry for the poor little children
\nbombed over seas
\nby tyrants in flashy ties
\ni shed a dry tear
\nfor the useless old men
\nwith no direction
\nsomewhat selfish, almost soulless
\nand not quite ready to go
\ni want to start a gang
\nsecret and seductive
\nmy friend suggested anarchist poets
\nohh if only there were more, but<\/p>\n
there was no new year
\nhell, the clock wasn’t even set
\nand i was getting old
\nand getting bored
\nit’s the same excuse
\njust one endless poem
\nwith two screens
\nand an ashtray
\nfor three years
\nI’ve tried to edit this story
\nto no avail
\nat 12:01
\neverything’s the same
\nto be good
\nat just one thing
\nwould be
\nthe greatest victory of all<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
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