Wednesday, September 23, 2009

september 23rd, 2009

tuesday night

With a savage grip on her buttocks I toast the night sky and wonder how much longer I can live in this nook of a bedroom.  Satisfaction only lingers and recently I have felt as if I was running in place.  Never settle whispers the pen laying to my left.  I lean in closer to the glow as if it will grant me the answer, as if running my hands through my greasy hair will clear the fog.  I grab my socks out of the hamper and put them back on.  I find my wrinkled pair of sweatpants in the closet and hop into them.  Without comfort I am acting.  Without wine I am sober.  Without poetry I cannot express all of my joy and all of my despair.

1 comment:

  1. "Never settle whispers the pen laying to my left." -that's great!!!!!!!!!!!

    "Without wine I am sober."