between you and I

I’ve realized 
how fragile 
my life has
become.

How easily 
it could
fall apart,
how close
to the edge
I am.

upset hearts and silent tears

it is nothing.

what has been done,
will always be.

what has been said, will float in
the air forever; the words
tangling in our hairs,

the cruelest,

entering through our nostrils and exiting
through our mouths, causing nothing
but upset hearts and silent tears.

it is nothing.

let us say goodbye
and declare it a tie.

the little walk

I went for a little walk
and passed by Donovan's.

In the window, there was a
young man dancing comically against

a blonde who had a cell phone in one hand
and a half empty wine glass in the other.

Two blocks from Donovan's, there was a man
wearing a long leather coat. He had it opened wide

to cover another blonde who was
squawting over a street grate urinating.

Not Worthy

I have a boatload of things
that I will do today like reading,
watching TV, and surfing the internet.

But nothing I will do will be worthy of a long,
philosophical discussion debating their merits.

They're just things to do. Simple.
And that's how I like it.

Iris

her smile 
breaks me,
her words 
reckless
but damned 
if I don’t 
worship her 
more and more 
each day.

8:46am

the tourist are 
starting to arrive.

the mourners 
will arrive 
well before 
8:46am on 
that day.

i will 
arrive later 
in the day 
with my head 
down and my cap 
pulled over my dark sunglasses.

i will be impenetrable.

On Writing

I sit with a beer or a glass of vodka. I stretch. 
I rock back and forth and smirk at the electronic paper.

The music plays in the background, it’s always dark outside.

I write one word, delete it, then write another then
I build around it. The words mount, one on top of the 
other like a city under construction. It takes shape.

It could be about love or hate
or war or peace or simply about 
a good shit I took during the Reagan Administration.

You’d be surprised.

Once it’s written, I slosh it around my 
mouth like you’d do after sipping a Chardonnay.
I flirt with the post button.

Should I? Shouldn’t I?

I know that once I release it, a sadness
will overcome me; a sense of loss.

I shouldn’t have released it.

Inevitably, I come to the realization
that releasing it was the natural thing to do.