Alone with my thoughts
Shut up in this temporary, two room apartment
Thinking through imagination
Rack my brain to conjure anything Heaven sent
Ink spilled, but nothing to write home about
Languished notions in an attempt at creation
Yet a vision of satire is all that I am
Craving a spark; anything to produce elation
We’re painting the roses red
When I spill my bottle of wine
Laughing the silly words we said
Running through the sunshine
Gathering inspiration to write
Leaning against their picket fence
Together & the songs we recite
Friendship allows life to make sense
I wonder if she realizes to what extent
How her existence teases me so
She exudes passion & beauty
She looks delicious & I want to know
Her blessings spilling out of her shirt
Perhaps unbuttoned a bit too far
She’s oblivious to my attentions
With her facade cracked slightly ajar
I try to remain with respectful intent
Though my curiosities want probed
I’ll just be waiting over here
In the off chance she becomes disrobed
I never said I was good at this
I have no fancy training or school
I just close my eyes & spill my soul
Without any regard if it will be cool
I’m a bush league hack at my best
Wandering my way through eternity
Endless reams within your dreams
But I’ll never be a victim of your modernity
Watching the paper soak up errant coffee
Spillage; correcting the bland, empty page
Blocked before you wasted the elixir of life
Words summoned now like a pensive sage
Freely letting loose a volley of images
We are released to our new mode of narration
Blinded aesthetics on a crisp winter morning
Forever allowed to remain alive in short bursts of inspiration
Counting out the steps
Crawling on all fours
One, two three, one two, three
You deny the circus, but they’re really yours
Giving her another twirl
We’re standing naked & stark
You speak your pretentious slang
Only exposed in the dark
I’m here with your midnight medicine
My beautiful babe, bottoms up!
But I remain steadfast
Watching you spill out of your lace cups
Ducking my head between the pages
This mounting pile – high on my desk
Picture postcard from the far gone
Lost her to traveling’ roadside burlesque
Hiding my mind between the sheets
But my coffee had long grown cold
Writings spilled slightly on the saucer
Loneliness steeped until its forever bold
I’m spilling my martini
Like a drunken lout
Don’t judge me, lady
Know not what I’m about
Merely seeing my words
You only know what I tell
I’ve never revealed scars
Or invited you to my hell

Quietly returning home
Feels like it has been a lifetime
Hard to recognize this place
Without all the peripheral grime
You stagger & greet me
Spilling your swill on the floor
I’m confused by your glee
I was never good enough before
You tell me your interests
But I can’t really give a damn
No desire to be anything
That’s not who I already am
Captain Q 