SUNRISE, PORTLAND MAINE

Seeking a self contained universe,

A poet at his desk, be it

                candlelight

                opium resin

                a pencil

                and blank paper

Or a lampshadeless fluorescent        

The static glow of a high resolution monitor

And a keyboard stained from Winston ashes
Falling between the keys

A poet at his desk

                drunk again spinning

                classical music spinning

                the closed eye anger

A poet at his desk better get used to it.

*

First of all there’s been nothing here

Portland Maine

But

Pyramids of beer cans

   glowing like millennial advertisements

Lots of solitary

and shadows and so forth

I don’t want any of it.

And I haven’t been around long enough to

                say I hate it all

But percentages

      have been known to dictate

*

A poet at his desk

Telling himself one more time

the countdown has officially begun

and a new life is waking

but hitting the snooze

one more time

*

and one bottle of Scotch later

thanking myself

that I don’t use my turn at the mic to bitch    

The sun still rises

  over the Holiday Inn

And all of a sudden I’ve got

Tourists

    to exchange snide glares with

All the turnpike turns

And lane changes

that bring me south to the city

again perch me on top of crumbled stone

and gutted apartments,

my eyes peering over TV antennas into the bay,

hinting at their confidence

in brilliance spewed off party balconies

echoing off of empty beer cans

dolled out to the chosen few

who know the price of what they want

*

A poet at his desk knows

Depression is the result of being unprepared

A poet at his desk

                writing again

tells himself one more time

that resolution is just a plot twist

sought by the disinterested

the closed eye anger

See what he does with it

Now that he’s gotten it back