Thursday, November 20, 2008


A few taps of the backspace key
and I can make it disappear.
Right click, delete, confirm
But it isn’t a laptop
that ends this charade-
it’s me.
On Thursday there are sofas and bookshelves and dinette sets
old televisions, chairs and mattresses
furnishing the sidewalk.

Still, the walls keep inching closer
with each involuntary blink.
There’s no place for my expelled breath to go,
I just keep breathing it back in.

Restless and inaccessible I overcompensate.
It’s 6:00 by the time I get to walking -
back alleys and side streets
counting the cat calls and horn beeps.
My mind retreats finally leaving me
to think. I waste it.

Lets squeeze every last drop of fate
out of this sad little place
and see what happens
when the only things left to blame
for the state we’re in
are the decisions we make.

Hey, pick up the pace,
the thoughts that surface
to keep us from sleep
blur at 90 miles an hour
on the black lit Midnight Street.

Don’t let up the gas.
When the tempo slows
We have to face them.
We have to face them.

But it doesn’t have to be tonight.


Max said...

eh, this reminds me of when Adam let you redecorate the apartment and you gave all his furniture away and bought those pillows and rugs. I'd never seen him speechless before.

I heard you turned down a publishing deal. What's up with that?

HoldMyGaze said...

hah, that agent was a shark. My writing is right where it belongs for now.