it’s funny
what a couple
of cheap bottles of wine
will do
to the
250 pound soul.

about four times now
into the second bottle
have had flashes
of smashing it
against
the wall
for the same reason
axl rose would
or say
bart simpson saying,
“SLAG OFF!”

my dog opens
the door
and comes in,
and i remember why
i saved him from
euthanasia
and pet him
and scratch his ears
and tell him
i love him.

never
wanted
to be loved
because
of money
or poetry;
so
eat dog shit
and die.

the only one i wanted to give my heart to
gave her heart to
and i cry and i cry
like john lee hooker
like riley b. king
like muddy muddy muddy waters

my blues are numb
i can’t write
love poems,
i got those
waters
backed up.

don’t
suspect
many poets
like cummings
emerge
from harvard
or any
other ivy covered
brickwalled campuses
anymore.

the best poets
are coming out
of struggling:
with two children
and no husband
she’s
the next maya angelou/james baldwin
hybrid
writer
cause she has to.
we need her.

would
give
myself
for…

but you don’t..

i would i…

but…

hold my
by the
and i…

oh
you
don’t

oh
my
life
joke

now and then
we begin
again

it
would
be nice
to

oh now and then
it would be
nice to
have a
friend

just gone so long
without
anything

don’t matter to me anymore

past
caring
whether
or not
i die
alone.

i know
i
felt something
more
than this
before.

the
unrealest
no
one
can believe
exists
like
make believe
and
just
there
when
i think.

empty a
lonely bottle
and
let the
last drops
splash
against your
lips
like
a
poet.

everything
becomes
golden,
clear to me,
i see
the meaning

i know why
everything
is random
fate.

got to
take
golden
oppurtunity
when
it
hits the mind
like the
devine

step outside
of me

got no
use for
complexity
bogging down
my
pursuit,
that becomes
very simple
when i realize
i have nothing,

so
I
return to
ultimate
selfishness
like
Howard Roark.

got
what i
was born with,

learned
to expect nothing more than that,

this life
and the love
i hold inside
is all i got
to work with,

careful
how i use it,

putting distance
between
me
and
those i love
who
don’t love me,

don’t want to
give my love
where it’s not needed,
where it’s
just
overindulgence.

want to keep my
love for me,

i’m stopping
wanting
love,

i’ve lived so
long
without it
that
i don’t
need
nothing
from
nobody.

i’m here,
and that’s cool,
the world
doesn’t
need
anymore
bullshit
love
poems
from me.

what
am i

looking
for

what have i got?
found?
what have i ever had
to show for anything?

nothing
but what
i made
for
myself.