i find myself alone, mad,
drinking whiskey and reading bukowski

i realize now i’m not so different
from the things i miss

the touch of a woman who loves back
the crazy moment that spills into a poem

these are the things i am
to other people
to myself

so let the wind and rain
whip around me to
remind me how it is

to be alive

This entry was posted on Friday, December 7th, 2007 at 1:46 am and is filed under poetry. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.